eNGLlSH    CLASSICS 

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Robert  Burns 

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ALLYN  AND  BACON 


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f^fje  ^caliemg  Series  of  lEttglisij  Classics 
SELECTIONS 

FROM    THE    POETRY    OF 

ROBERT   BURNS 

WITH 

NOTES,  INTRODUCTION,  AND   GLOSSARY 
EDITED    BY 

LOIS   G.    HUFFORD 

TEACHER  OF  ENGLISH   LITERATURE  IN  THE  HIGH  SCHOOL 
AT  INDIANAPOLIS,  INDIANA 


The  simple  Bard,  unbroke  by  rules  of  art, 

He  pours  the  wild  effusions  of  the  heart : 

And  if  inspired,  'tis  Nature's  pow'rs  inspire ; 

Hers  all  the  melting  thrill,  and  hers  the  kindling  fire. 

Motto  prefixed  to  the  first  edition  of  Burns' s  Poems. 


Boston 

ALLYN    AND    BACON 


0   >~K^    t> 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  BY 
L018  G.   HUFFOKD. 


Norloooti  T^xtit 

J.  8.  CushiiiR  «t  Co.      Berwick  k  Smith 

Norwood  Mam.  U.S.A. 


PREFACE. 

Although  especially  intended  for  secondary  schools, 
it  is  hoped  that  this  volume  of  selections  from  the 
poetry  of  Burns  may  commend  itself  to  a  wider  circle 
of  students. 

No  attempt  has  been  made  to  show  all  the  phases  of 
Burns's  genius ;  the  effort  rather  has  been  to  show  him 
at  his  best.  It  is  through  such  of  his  poems  as  are 
included  in  this  volume  that  his  powerful  influence  in 
restoring  to  English  poetry  a  higher  standard  and  a 
purer  taste  than  had  prevailed  in  the  earlier  part  of  the 
eighteenth  century  is  best  seen. 

The  notes  aim  to  give,  as  far  as  possible,  the  circum- 
stances attending  the  composition  of  each  poem.  They 
are  based  chiefly  upon  authorized  Edinburgh  editions  of 
the  poet,  and  upon  the  interpretation  of  friendly  critics. 
Such  words  as  are  not  given  in  the  glossary  will  be 
found  in  the  notes. 

L.  G.  H. 

Indianapolis,  Indiana, 
February,  1898. 

iii 


lvi63335S 


PREFACE   TO   THE   FIRST   EDITION 

OF 

BURNS'  POEMS. 


Published  at  Kilmarnock  in  1786. 


The  following  trifles  are  not  the  production  of  a  Poet,  who, 
with  all  the  advantages  of  learned  art,  and  perhaps  amid  the 
elegancies  and  idleness  of  upper  life,  looks  down  for  a  rural 
theme,  with  an  eye  to  Theocritus  or  Virgil.  To  the  author  of 
this,  these  and  other  celebrated  names,  their  countrymen,  are  at 
least  in  their  original  language,  a  fountain  shut  up  and  a  book 
sealed.  Unacquainted  with  the  necessary  rules  for  commencing 
poetry  by  rule,  he  sings  the  sentiments  and  manners  he  felt  and 
saw  in  himself  and  his  rustic  compeers  around  him,  in  his  and 
their  native  language.  Though  a  rhymer  from  his  earliest  years, 
at  least  from  the  earliest  impulses  of  the  softer  passions,  it  was 
not  till  very  lately  that  the  applause,  perhaps  the  partiality  of 
friendship,  wakened  his  vanity  so  far  as  to  make  him  think  any- 
thing of  his  worth  showing ;  and  none  of  the  following  works  were 
composed  with  a  view  to  the  press. 

To  amuse  himself  with  the  little  creations  of  his  own  fancy, 
amid  the  toil  and  fatigues  of  a  laborious  life ;  to  transcribe  the 
various  feelings,  the  loves,  the  griefs,  the  hopes,  the  fears,  in  his 
own  breast ;  to  find  some  kind  of  counterpoise  to  the  struggles  of 
a  world,  always  an  alien  scene,  a  task  uncouth  to  the  poetical 
mind, — these  were  his  motives  for  courting  the  muses,  and  in 
these  he  found  poetry  to  be  its  own  reward. 

Now  that  he  appeai^s  in  the  public  character  of  an  author,  he 
does  it  with  fear  and  trembling.  So  dear  is  fame  to  the  rhyming 
tribe,  that  even  he,  obscure,  nameless  bard,  shrinks  aghast  at  the 


vi  PREFACE    TO    THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

thought  of  being  branded  as  an  impertinent  blockhead,  obtruding 
his  nonsense  on  the  world ;  and,  because  he  can  make  a  shift  to 
jingle  a  few  doggerel  Scotch  rhymes  together,  looking  upon  himself 
as  a  poet  of  no  small  consequence,  forsooth  ! 

It  is  an  observation  of  that  celebrated  poet,  Shenstone,  whose 
divine  elegies  do  honor  to  our  language,  our  nation,  and  our 
species,  that  ^^  Humility  has  depressed  many  a  genius  to  a  hermit, 
but  never  raised  one  to  fame  ! "  If  our  critic  catches  at  the  word 
genius,  the  author  tells  him  once  for  all  that  he  certainly  looks 
upon  himself  as  possessed  of  some  poetic  abilities,  otherwise  his 
publishing  in  the  manner  he  has  done,  would  be  a  manoeuvre 
below  the  worst  character,  which,  he  hopes,  his  worst  enemy  will 
ever  give  him.  But  to  the  genius  of  a  Ramsay,  or  the  glorious 
dawnings  of  the  poor,  unfortunate  Fergusson,  he,  with  equal 
unaffected  sincerity,  declares  that  even  in  his  highest  pulse  of 
vanity  he  has  not  the  most  distant  pretension.  These  two  justly 
admired  Scotch  poets  he  has  often  had  in  his  eye  in  the  following 
pieces ;  but  rather  with  a  view  to  kindle  at  their  flame,  than  for 
servile  imitation. 

To  his  subscribers,  the  author  returns  his  most  sincere  thanks. 
Not  the  mercenary  bow  over  a  counter,  but  the  heart-throbbing 
gratitude  of  the  Bard,  conscious  how  much  he  owes  to  benevolence 
and  friendship,  for  gratifying  him,  if  he  deserves  it,  in  that  dearest 
wish  of  every  poetic  bosom  —  to  be  distinguished.  He  begs  his 
readers,  particularly  the  learned  and  polite,  who  may  honor 
him  with  a  perusal,  that  they  will  make  every  allowance  for 
education  and  circumstances  of  life  ;  but  if,  after  a  fair,  candid, 
and  impartial  criticism  he  shall  stand  convicted  of  dulness  and 
nonsense,  let  him  be  done  by  as  he  would  in  that  case  do  by 
others  —  let  him  be  condemned  without  mercy  to  contempt  and 
oblivion. 


DEDICATION. 


(Second  Edition,  Edinburgh,  1787.) 


To  THE  Noblemen  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt. 

My  Lords  and  Gentlemen :  — 

A  Scottish  Bard,  proud  of  name,  and  whose  highest  ambition  is 
to  sing  in  his  country's  service  —  where  shall  he  so  properly  look 
for  patronage  as  to  the  illustrious  names  of  his  native  land  ;  those 
who  bear  the  honors  and  inherit  the  virtues  of  their  ancestors  ? 
The  Poetic  Genius  of  my  country  found  me,  as  the  prophetic  bard 
Elijah  did  Elisha  —  at  the  plough  ;  and  threw  her  inspiring  mantle 
over  me.  She  bade  me  sing  the  loves,  the  joys,  the  rural  scenes, 
and  rural  pleasures  of  my  native  soil,  in  my  native  tongue ; 
I  tuned  my  wild,  artless  notes,  as  she  inspired.  She  whispered 
me  to  come  to  this  ancient  metropolis  of  Caledonia,  and  lay  my 
songs  under  your  honored  protection  ;  I  now  obey  her  dictates. 

Though  much  indebted  to  your  goodness,  I  do  not  approach 
you,  my  Lords  and  Gentlemen,  in  the  usual  style  of  dedication, 
to  thank  you  for  past  favors ;  that  path  is  so  hackneyed  by 
prostituted  learning,  that  honest  rusticity  is  ashamed  of  it.  Nor 
do  I  present  this  address  with  the  venal  soul  of  a  servile  Author, 
looking  for  a  continuation  of  these  favors  ;  I  was  bred  to  the 
plough,  and  am  independent.  I  come  to  claim  the  common  Scot- 
tish name  with  you,  my  illustrious  countrymen ;  and  to  tell  the 
world  that  I  glory  in  the  title.  I  come  to  congratulate  my  country 
that  the  blood  of  her  ancient  heroes  still  runs  uncontaminated  ; 
and  that  from  your  courage,  knowledge,  and  public  spirit,  she 
may  expect  protection,  wealth,  and  liberty.  In  the  last  place, 
I  come  to  proffer  my  warmest  wishes  to  the  Great  Fountain  of 
Honor,  the  Monarch  of  the  Universe,  for  your  welfare  and 
happiness. 


viii        DEDICATION  OF  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

When  you  go  forth  to  waken  the  Echoes  in  the  ancient  and 
favorite  amusement  of  your  forefathers,  may  Pleasure  ever  be 
of  your  party  ;  and  may  Social  Joy  await  your  return.  When 
harassed  in  courts  or  camps  with  the  jostlings  of  bad  men  and 
bad  measures,  may  the  honest  consciousness  of  injured  worth 
attend  your  return  to  your  native  seats ;  and  may  domestic  happi- 
ness, with  a  smiling  welcome,  meet  you  at  your  gates !  May 
corruption  shrink  at  your  kindling,  indignant  glance  ;  and  may 
tyranny  in  the  Ruler,  and  licentiousness  in  the  People,  equally 
find  you  an  inexorable  foe  ! 

I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
With  the  sincerest  gratitude,  and  highest  respect, 
My  Lords  and  Gentlemen, 

Your  most  devoted  humble  servant, 

ROBERT  BURNS. 
Edinburgh.  April  4,  1787. 


CONTENTS. 


PAOK 

Introduction xi 

The  Vision 1 

The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night 10 

Epitaph  on  my  Ever-honored  Father  .         .         .         .16 

To  William  Simpson 16 

Stanzas  from  Epistles  to  John  Lapraik    .         .         .         .19 

To  A  Mouse 21 

A  Winter  Night 23 

To  A  Mountain  Daisy 25 

On  scaring  some  Water  Fowl 27 

On  the  Destruction  of  the  Woods  near  Drumlanrig     .     29 
The  Humble  Petition  of  Bruar  Water     .         .         .         .30 

The  Brigs  of  Ayr 33 

Tam  o'  Shanter 40 

To  James  Smith       . 47 

Epistle  to  Davie,  a  Brother  Poet 52 

Address  to  the  Unco  Guid 56 

Answer  to  Verses  addressed  to  the  Poet         .         .         .58 

Prologue,  spoken  by  Mr.  Woods 60 

Castle  Gordon 61 

Address  to  Edinburgh 62 

Lament  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots 64 

Ode  for  General  Washington's  Birthday  .         .         .66 

Inscription  for  an  Altar 68 

Written  with  a  Pencil,  at  Kenmore  .         .         .         .69 

ix 


CONTENTS, 


PAOB 

Epistle  to  ▲  Young  Friend 70 

Man  was  made  to  Mourn 72 

A  Prayer 76 

Winter 76 

The  First  Psalm 77 

The  First  Six  Verses  of  the  Ninetieth  Psalm         .        .  78 

SONGS. 

The  Author's  Farewell  to  his  Native  Country      .        .  79 

The  Banks  o'  Doon 80 

Afton  Water 81 

Highland  Mary 82 

AuLD  Lang  Syne 83 

John  Anderson  my  Jo 84 

My  Nannie's  awa 84 

Song «6 

My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands 85 

Sonnet  written  on  the  Author's  Birthday  .        .86 

Bannockburn .         .87 

A  Man's  a  Man  for  a'  that 88 

The  Ploughman       . 89 

A  Bard's  Epitaph 90 

To  A  Louse      .         .                          91 

Nature's  Law 91 

Notes 93 

Suggestions  por  Class  Study 122 

Glossary 127 


INTRODUCTION. 


A  DISTINGUISHED  gentleman  once  asked  a  poor  man  whom 
he  met  near  the  home  of  Robert  Burns,  ^*  Can  you  explain  to 
me  what  it  is  that  makes  Burns  such  a  favorite  with  all  in 
Scotland?  Other  poets  you  have,  and  great  ones,  but  I  do  not 
perceive  the  same  instant  flash,  as  it  were,  of  an  electric  feeling 
when  any  name  is  named  but  that  of  Burns."  "  I  can  tell 
you,"  said  the  man,  "what  it  is.  It  is  because  he  had  the  heart 
of  a  man  in  him.  And  there  is  nothing,  at  least  in  a  poor 
man's  experience,  either  bitter  or  sweet,  but  a  line  of  Burns 
springs  to  his  mouth,  and  gives  him  comfort  and  courage  if  he 
needs  it.     It  is  like  a  second  Bible." 

Since  hearts  are  the  same  the  world  over,  the  poet  who  has 
thus  voiced  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  his  countrymen  is  the  poet 
of  humanity;  his  message  comes  with  power  to  every  feeling 
heart. 

The  heritage  of  Robert  Burns  was  no  mean  one,  even  though 
he  was  born  in  the  "  clay  biggin  "  of  a  peasant  farmer.  His 
father,  William  Burness  (as  he  spelled  the  name),  was  one  of 
Nature's  noblemen,  —  a  man  of  strong  common  sense,  sterling 
piety,  and  honor;  one  who  was  rigidly  just  with  himself  and 
with  others ;  a  lover  of  knowledge.  From  his  mother,  Robert 
inherited  personal  beauty  and  magnetism,  a  poetic  tempera- 
ment, and  an  ardent  nature.  The  story  goes  that  a  wandering 
gypsy,  to  whom  his  father  had  done  a  service,  prophesied  of 
the  newborn  babe :  — 

**  He'll  hae  misfortunes  great  and  sma', 
But  aye  a  heart  aboon  them  a' : 
He'll  be  a  credit  'till  us  a', 
We'll  a'  be  proud  o'  Robin." 
xi 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 


In  the  same  song  in  which  the  poet  thus  preserves  the 
prophecy,  he  poetically  records  the  date  of  his  birth ;  — 

**  Our  monarch's  hindmost  year  but  ane 
Was  five  and  twenty  days  begun, 
*Twas  then  a  blast  o'  Janwar  win' 
Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin." 

The  "  blast  of  Janwar  wind  '*  tore  off  a  portion  of  the  roof  of 
the  cottage  which  the  poet's  father  had  built  for  his  young 
wife,  Agnes  Brown,  and  compelled  her  to  take  refuge,  with 
nine-days-old  Robert,  in  the  home  of  a  neighbor,  until  the  roof 
could  be  repaired. 

January  25th,  1759,  the  birthday  of  Robert  Burns,  did,  in- 
deed, bring  "hansel  **  (a  choice  gift)  to  Scotland;  for  the  child 
thus  roughly  welcomed  was  destined  to  become  the  true  poet 
laureate  of  his  native  land. 

Around  the  ingleside  of  William  and  Agnes  Burness  was 
gathered,  in  time,  a  group  of  seven  children,  of  whom  Robert 
was  the  eldest.  Farming  in  Scotland  is  always  difficult,  and, 
in  the  case  of  the  Burns  family,  the  struggle  with  poverty  was, 
at  times,  very  bitter.  The  father  was  never  robust ;  their  scanty 
means  would  not  pay  the  hire  of  a  farm  hand,  nor  even  provide 
sufficient  nourishing  food  for  the  growing  children.  For  several 
years,  butcher's  meat  was  never  upon  their  table.  At  thirteen, 
Robert  threshed  their  crop  of  corn  with  his  own  hands;  at 
fifteen,  he  was  the  principal  laborer  on  their  little  farm.  "This 
kind  of  life,"  he  writes,  "  the  cheerless  gloom  of  a  hermit,  and 
the  unceasing  toil  of  a  galley  slave,  brought  me  to  my  sixteenth 
year." 

But  life  in  that  cottage  had  another  side  :  love  presided  over 
this  home;  reverent  piety  and  trust  filled  the  hearts  of  the 
parents ;  both  by  example  and  precept,  high  principles  of  truth 
and  virtue  were  instilled  in  the  hearts  of  the  children.  The 
poet's  picture  of  a  Saturday  Night  in  a  Cotter's  home  is  a  per- 
fect reproduction  of  his  childhood's  experiences. 

There  was  much  in  the  atmosphere  of  his  early  home  life, 


INTRODUCTION.  xiii 


also,  to  nourish  the  germs  of  poetic  power  in  his  soul.  His 
sweet-tempered,  happy-hearted  mother  went  singing  about  her 
work ;  her  memory  was  stored  with  the  songs  and  ballads  of 
her  native  Scotland.  These  tunes  haunted  the  soul  of  Robert, 
until  his  Muse  taught  him  to  give  them  worthier  words,  thus 
linking  his  name  forever  with  the  sweetest  strains  of  Scottish 
music.  The  "  patriotic  tide  "  which  flowed  through  the  veins 
of  a  Wallace  and  a  Bruce,  surged  with  kindred  strength  in  the 
heart  of  Robert  Burns ;  in  his  case,  the  boy's  natural  reverence 
for  heroes  was  warmed  to  a  glow  of  enthusiasm  by  fireside 
stories  of  Scotland's  patriots. 

Imagination,  as  well  as  feeling,  was  enkindled  in  his  early 
days.  To  his  mother's  store  of  ballads  and  stories  was  added  a 
wealth  of  tradition  and  folklore  through  the  tales  told  by  an 
old  woman  who  resided  in  the  family,  and  who  was  remarkable 
for  superstitious  credulity.  Of  this  woman.  Burns  writes : 
"She  had,  1  suppose,  the  largest  collection  in  the  country  of 
tales  and  songs  concerning  devils,  ghosts,  fairies,  brownies, 
witches,  warlocks,  kelpies,  wraiths,  apparitions,  cantraips,  giants, 
enchanted  towers,  dragons,  and  other  trumpery.  This  culti- 
vated the  latent  seeds  of  poesie ;  but  had  so  strong  an  effect 
upon  my  imagination  that  to  this  hour,  in  my  nocturnal  ram- 
bles, I  sometimes  keep  a  lookout  on  suspicious  places,  and, 
though  nobody  can  be  more  sceptical  than  I  am  in  such  mat- 
ters, yet  it  often  takes  an  effort  of  philosophy  to  shake  off  these 
idle  terrors." 

William  Burness,  though  poor,  was  intelligent  and  a  lover  of 
knowledge.  He  was  determined  that  his  children  should  have, 
at  least,  the  fundamentals  of  a  good  education.  He  himself  was 
their  first  teacher;  besides  teaching  them  to  read  and  write,  he 
was  accustomed  to  read  the  Bible  to  them,  and  to  explain  the 
meaning.  When  Robert  was  seven  years  old,  the  family  moved 
from  Ayr  to  another  farm  at  Mount  Oliphant.  There  a  tutor 
was  employed  to  teach  arithmetic,  grammar,  French,  and  Latin 
to  the  Burns  boys,  together  with  the  sons  of  five  neighboring 
farmers.    To  this  tutor,  John  Murdoch,  Robert  Burns  acknowl- 


xiv  INTRODUCTION, 


edges  his  great  indebtedness.  He  taught  the  boys,  not  only  to 
read  and  to  parse,  but  to  give  the  exact  meaning  of  words,  to 
supply  ellipses,  and  to  substitute  plain  for  poetic  words  and 
phrases.  In  the  walks  which  he  took  with  Burns,  he  added 
much  valuable  information  to  that  given  in  the  schoolroom. 
Murdoch  testifies  that  he  found  Robert  quick  in  apprehension, 
and  not  afraid  to  study  when  knowledge  was  to  be  the  reward. 
Burns  himself  writes :  "  Though  it  cost  the  schoolmaster  some 
thrashings,  I  made  an  excellent  English  scholar,  and,  by  the 
time  I  was  ten  or  eleven  years  of  age,  I  was  a  critic  in 
substantives,  verbs,  and  particles." 

Some  chance  visitor  to  the  home  of  Burns  has  reported  that 
he  found  the  family  at  their  frugal  meal,  each  with  a  spoon  in 
one  hand,  and  a  book  in  the  other.  This  characteristic  view 
plainly  shows  with  what  eagerness  they  sought  for  knowledge. 
Burns  relates  that  the  first  two  books  which  he  ever  read  in  pri- 
vate were  The  Life  of  Hannibal^  and  The  History  of  Sir  William 
Wallace.  "  Hannibal  gave  my  young  ideas  such  a  turn,  that  I 
used  to  strut  in  raptures  up  and  down  after  the  recruiting  drum 
and  bagpipe,  and  wish  myself  tall  enough  to  be  a  soldier;  while 
the  story  of  Wallace  poured  a  Scottish  prejudice  into  my  veins, 
which  will  boil  along  there  till  the  floodgates  of  life  shut  in 
eternal  rest." 

The  friendship  of  their  well-to-do  neighbors  also  served  them 
a  good  turn ;  for  the  books  on  the  shelves  of  the  Ayrshire 
squires  among  their  acquaintance  were  willingly  loaned.  In 
this  way.  Burns  early  became  familiar  with  Pope,  some  plays  of 
Shakespeare,  Addison's  Spectator  Papers,  Locke's  Essay  on  the 
Human  Understanding,  Boyle's  Lectures  on  Science,  Salmon's 
and  Guthrie's  Geographical  Grammars,  Allan  Ramsay's  Poems, 
and  other  works  of  less  note,  but  which  were  influential  in 
forming  his  taste.  A  collection  of  Scottish  Songs  became  his 
constant  companion,  and,  we  might  say,  his  master  in  the 
science  of  verse.  He  says :  "  I  pored  over  them  driving  my 
cart,  or  walking  to  labor,  song  by  song,  verse  by  verse;  care- 
fully noting  the  true,  tender,  or  sublime  from  affectation  and 


INTRODUCTION,  xv 


fustian.  I  am  convinced  I  owe  to  this  practice  much  of  my 
critic  craft,  such  as  it  is."  Certainly  no  poet  ever  had  a  truer 
ear  for  the  music  of  verse  than  had  Robert  Burns. 

He  well  deserves  the  title  of  "  the  ploughman  poet "  which 
he  proudly  bore;  for  his  Muse  did,  indeed,  find  him  at  the 
plough.  Many  of  his  noblest  poems  were  composed  in  the 
open  air.  Like  Wordsworth,  he  breathed  more  freely  under 
the  open  sky,  amid  the  inspiring  sights  and  sounds  of  nature, 
than  within  four  walls. 

It  was  the  stimulus  of  love  for  a  "bonnie,  sweet,  sonsie  lass" 
with  whom,  according  to  the  Scottish  custom,  he  was  working 
in  the  harvest  field,  that  first  led  Burns  to  voice  his  feelings  in 
song.  The  lassie  sang  sweetly,  and  Burns,  then  a  youth  of  six- 
teen, longed  to  hear  his  verses  from  her  lips.  Handsome  Nell, 
the  song  which  he  composed  in  her  honor,  is  a  delicate  tribute 
of  youthful  love,  and  one  that  any  lassie  might  be  proud  to 
receive  :  — 

"  As  bonnie  lasses  I  hae  seen, 
And  mony  full  as  braw, 
But  for  a  modest,  gracefu'  mien, 
The  like  I  never  saw. 

**  She  dresses  aye  sae  clean  and  neat, 
Both  decent  and  genteel ; 
And  then  there's  something  in  her  gait 
Gars  onie  dress  look  weel." 

Many  were  the  strains  of  tender  sentiment  inspired  by  the 
love  of  woman  that  afterwards  flowed  from  the  pen  of  Burns, 
for  he  seems  to  have  been  so  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  a 
bright  eye  and  a  winning  smile  that  he  was  impelled  to  pay 
tribute  of  verse  to  every  fair  charmer.  Although  this  extreme 
susceptibility  must  be  accounted  a  weakness,  and  although  it 
sometimes  led  him  into  serious  error,  yet  it  is  also  true  that 
many  of  Burns's  love  songs  are  among  the  most  beautiful 
expressions  of  pure  feeling  ever  written. 

The  farm  at  Mount  Oliphant  had  proved,  as  Burns  said,  "  a 


xvi  INTRODUCTION, 


ruinous  bargain ; "  so,  in  1777,  another  change  was  made,  the 
family  removing  to  Lochlea  and  taking  an  upland  farm  on  the 
north  bank  of  the  river  Ayr.  From  his  eighteenth  to  his  twenty- 
fifth  year,  this  was  the  home  of  Robert  Burns.  They  were  years 
of  hard  work,  and  of  some  growth  in  poetic  power.  While 
following  the  plough,  he  was  inventing  new  poetic  forms,  and 
"  gathering  round  him  the  memories  and  the  traditions  of  his 
country  till  they  became  a  mantle  and  a  crown."  Here  he  began 
to  cherish  the  hope  — 

'*  That  I  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake, 
Some  useful  plan  or  book  could  make, 
Or  sing  a  sang  at  least." 

In  his  seventeenth  year,  greatly  against  his  father's  wishes, 
Robert  attended  dancing-school,  "  to  give  his  rustic  manners  a 
brush,"  as  he  said.  In  his  nineteenth  year,  he  went  to  the  vil- 
lage of  Kirkoswald  on  the  coast,  to  study  mensuration  and  sur- 
veying; but,  imfortunately  for  Burns,  the  village  was  full  of 
smugglers,  in  whose  unprincipled  society  he  was  introduced  to 
scenes  of  "  swaggering  riot  and  roaring  dissipation."  The  farm 
at  Lochlea  was  especially  adapted  to  the  growing  of  flax ;  so, 
in  1781,  Robert  went  to  Irvine  to  learn  the  trade  of  flax-dress- 
ing. There  he  made  acquaintances  whose  lax  principles  still 
further  lowered  his  own  standard  of  morals ;  he  was  robbed  by 
his  partner  in  trade,  and,  to  crown  all,  as  he  was  engaged  with 
some  companions  in  giving  a  welcoming  carousal  to  the  New 
Year,  his  shop  took  fire  and  burned  to  the  ground.  He  returned 
home  to  find  his  father,  worn  out  with  the  unequal  struggle 
with  poverty,  dying  of  consumption. 

After  their  father's  death,  the  two  sons,  Robert  and  Gilbert, 
leased  the  small  farm  of  Mossgiel  in  the  parish  of  Mauchline. 
In  the  hope  of  retrieving  the  fortunes  of  the  family,  they 
studied  books  on  farming,  and  put  forth  every  effort  to  succeed ; 
but  again  wet  seasons  and  bad  seed  caused  heavy  losses.  The 
four  years  spent  at  Mossgiel,  however,  were  fruitful  years  for 
Burns;  for  in  these  were  produced  a  large  number  of  his  best 
poems.    His  favorite  time  for  composition  was  still  at  the 


INTRODUCTION,  xvii 


plough ;  but  at  night  the  poet  used  to  retire  to  the  garret  room 
which  he  occupied  with  his  brother  Gilbert,  and  there,  seated 
at  a  small  deal  table,  he  would  transcribe  the  verses  which  he 
had  composed  in  the  field.     In  one  of  his  poems,  he  tells  us :  — 

'*  An  aim  I  never  fash, 
I  rhyme  for  fun." 

When  harvests  failed  and  disappointment  made  him  heart- 
sick, he  found  solace  in  rhyming,  — 

*'  it's  aye  a  treasure, 
My  chief,  amaist  my  only  pleasure, 
At  hame,  a-fiel',  at  wark,  at  leisure." 

Every  lover  of  the  tender  and  true  in  poetry  must  rejoice  that 
the  sadly  overtasked  spirit  of  Robert  Burns  could  thus  find  glad 
relief  in  immortal  verse. 

The  year  1786  was  a  critical  one  to  Burns.  Harassed  by 
difficulties  due  partly  to  poverty,  partly  to  his  own  errors,  he 
reluctantly  decided  to  leave  his  beloved  Scotland,  and  seek  his 
fortunes  in  Jamaica ;  but  how  should  he  raise  the  sum  needed 
to  pay  his  passage?  At  this  juncture, his  friend,  Gavin  Hamil- 
ton, who  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  poems,  suggested  that 
he  should  publish  them  in  order  to  defray  the  expense  of  the 
voyage.  At  that  time,  it  was  customary  to  publish  books  by 
subscription  ;  so  a  list  of  subscribers  was  sought  for,  and  easily 
found  among  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood,  with  whom  Burns 
was  a  great  favorite.  An  edition  of  six  hundred  copies  was 
printed  by  John  Wilson  of  Kilmarnock ;  every  copy  was  quickly 
sold,  the  author  realizing  twenty  pounds  from  the  sale,  nine 
pounds  of  which  he  applied  to  the  purchase  of  a  passage  to 
Jamaica. 

"Bonnie  Doon,  sae  sweet  and  gloamin', 

Fare  thee  weel  before  I  gang ! 
Bonnie  Doon,  whare  early  roamin' 

First  I  weaved  the  rustic  sang  !  " 

The  thought  of  banishing  himseK  from  his  beloved  Scotland, 
every  flower,  and  stream,  and  brae  of  which  was  dear  to  him, 


INTRODUCTION. 


plunged  him  into  the  most  painful  despondency ;  in  this  melan- 
choly mood  he  wrote,  — 

**  The  gloomy  night  is  gath'ring  fast." 

But  Scotland  would  not  permit  the  self-exile  of  her  newly-found 
son  of  genius.  "The  country  murmured  of  him  from  sea  to 
sea."  A  Scotch  writer  says :  "  With  his  poems,  old  and  young, 
grave  and  gay,  learned  and  ignorant,  were  alike  transported. 
I  well  remember  how  even  plough  boys  and  maid-servants  would 
have  gladly  bestowed  the  wages  they  earned  the  most  hardly, 
and  which  they  wanted  to  purchase  necessary  clothing,  if  they 
might  but  procure  the  works  of  Burns." 

Among  those  who  were  thus  captivated  by  the  new  singer, 
was  an  Edinburgh  poet  and  man  of  critical  taste,  Dr.  Thomas 
Blacklock,  who  wrote  to  an  Ayrshire  friend,  expressing  great 
admiration  of  the  poems,  and  adding  that,  for  the  sake  of  the 
young  man,  he  wished  that  a  second  edition,  more  numerous 
than  the  former,  could  immediately  be  printed.  A  favorable 
review  of  his  poems  by  the  Edinburgh  Review  still  further  en- 
couraged Burns,  and  he  determined  to  go  at  once  to  Edinburgh, 
without  even  waiting  for  a  letter  of  introduction. 

Before  leaving  Ayrshire,  however,  the  poet  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  distinguished  Scotch  metaphysician,  Dugald 
Stewart,  who  was  spending  the  summer  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  who  invited  Burns  to  dine  with  him.  On  that  occasion. 
Burns  met  also  a  young  nobleman,  who  was  the  guest  of  Dr. 
Stewart.  It  was  the  peasant  poet's  first  introduction  to  the 
nobility,  and  he  has  given  a  humorous  account  of  his  feelings :  — 

**  This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns, 
I,  Rhymer  Robin,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty-third, 
A  ne'er  to  be  forgotten  day, 
Sae  far  I  sprachled  ^  up  the  brae, 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  lord. 


1  Scrambled. 


INTRODUCTION,  xix 


"  I  sidling  sheltered  in  a  nook, 
An'  at  his  lordship  steal't  a  look 

Like  some  portentous  omen : 
Except  good  sense  and  social  glee, 
An'  (what  surprised  me)  modesty, 

I  marked  nought  uncommon. 

**  I  watched  the  symptoms  of  the  great, 
The  gentle  pride,  the  lordly  state, 

The  arrogant  assuming : 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he. 
Nor  sauce,  nor  state,  that  I  could  see, 

Mair  than  an  honest  ploughman." 

The  native  dignity  and  manly  pride  of  honest  worth  which 
distinguished  Burns  are  thus  attested  by  Professor  Stewart : 
"His  manners  were  then,  as  they  continued  ever  afterwards, 
simple,  manly,  and  independent;  strongly  expressive  of  con- 
scious genius  and  worth,  but  without  anything  that  indicated 
forwardness,  arrogance,  or  vanity.  He  took  his  share  in  con- 
versation, but  not  more  than  belonged  to  him;  and  listened 
with  apparent  attention  and  deference  on  subjects  where  his 
want  of  education  deprived  him  of  the  means  of  information. 
If  there  had  been  a  little  more  of  gentleness  and  accommodation 
in  his  temper,  he  would,  I  think,  have  been  still  more  interest- 
ing :  but  he  had  been  accustomed  to  give  law  in  the  circle  of 
his  ordinary  acquaintance,  and  his  dread  of  anything  approach- 
ing to  meanness  or  servility  rendered  his  manner  somewhat  de- 
cided and  hard.  Nothing,  perhaps,  was  more  remarkable  among 
his  various  attainments  than  the  fluency,  and  precision,  and 
originality  of  his  language,  when  he  spoke  in  company ;  more 
particularly  as  he  aimed  at  purity  in  his  turn  of  expression,  and 
avoided,  more  successfully  than  most  Scotchmen,  the  peculiari- 
ties of  Scottish  phraseology." 

In  the  distinguished  society  of  the  Scotch  capital,  where  his 
genius  won  him  a  warm  welcome.  Burns  preserved  the  same 
self-respecting  demeanor ;  his  manner  was  absolutely  free  from 
affectation.      "He  manifested,"  says  Lockhart,  "in  the  whole 


XX  INTRODUCTION, 


strain  of  his  bearing,  his  belief  that  in  the  society  of  the  most 
eminent  men  of  his  nation,  he  was  where  he  was  entitled  to  be, 
hardly  deigning  to  flatter  them  by  exhibiting  a  symptom  of 
being  flattered."  Walter  Scott,  then  a  youth  of  sixteen,  has 
left  a  similar  testimony.  He  says :  "  There  was  a  strong  ex- 
pression of  shrewdness  in  his  lineaments ;  the  eye  alone  indicated 
the  poetic  character  and  temperament.  It  was  of  a  large  and 
dark  cast,  and  literally  glowed  when  he  spoke  with  feeling  or 
interest.  I  never  saw  such  another  eye  in  a  human  head.  His 
conversation  expressed  perfect  self-confidence,  without  the  least 
intrusive  forwardness." 

During  his  winter  in  Edinburgh,  Burns  made  some  friend- 
ships among  people  of  influence  and  station  whose  appreciation 
of  his  genius  was  sincere.  The  kind  hospitality  of  the  Duchess 
of  Gordon,  he  has  commemorated  in  Castle  Gordon,  The  Earl 
of  Glencairn  rendered  him  a  substantial  service  by  securing  for 
him  the  patronage  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt,  a  society  of  the 
Scottish  nobility,  under  whose  auspices  a  second  edition  of  his 
poems  was  published  in  1787.  Twenty-eight  hundred  copies 
were  taken  by  subscription  ;  Burns's  share  of  the  profits  was 
five  hundred  pounds. 

The  ploughman  poet  felt  himself  out  of  place,  however,  in  the 
formal  conventionalities  of  aristocratic  society.  He  realized 
that  his  native  element  was  the  free  air  of  the  country  ;  so,  after 
gratifying  his  longing  to  visit  the  historic  shrines  of  his  native 
land,  he  returned  to  Ajrrshire,  and  took  a  farm  called  Ellisland, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Nith.  To  this  home  he  brought  his  wife, 
Jean  Armour,  to  whom  he  had  been  secretly  married  two  years 
before. 

In  order  to  secure  a  comfortable  support  for  his  mother,  he 
loaned  his  brother  Gilbert  one  hundred  and  eighty  pounds  for 
the  family  at  Mossgiel.  The  remainder  of  the  proceeds  from 
the  sale  of  his  poems  was  consumed  in  an  unsuccessful  effort  to 
make  his  own  farming  profitable.  After  three  years  of  fruitless 
labor,  he  gave  up  the  struggle  and  removed  to  the  town  of 
Dumfries,  supporting  his  family  upon  fifty  pounds  a  year,  the 


INTRODUCTION,  xxi 


salary  of  an  exciseman,  or  collector  of  tax  duties,  —  a  govern- 
ment appointment  which  his  friends  had  managed  to  secure  for 
him. 

Many  of  the  sweetest  of  the  songs  of  Burns  were  composed  in 
the  last  five  years  of  his  life  at  Dumfries.  About  one  hundred 
of  these  were  written  at  the  request  of  the  publisher  of  a  work 
entitled  The  Melodies  of  Scotland.  For  this  labor,  which  ren- 
dered the  Melodies  immortal.  Burns  received  a  shawl  for  his 
wife,  a  picture  representing  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  and 
five  pounds.  The  poet  wrote  an. indignant  letter,  and  never 
afterwards  wrote  for  money. 

By  nature,  Robert  Burns  was  fitted  to  shine  in  society ;  he 
loved  company,  and  his  "  merry  note  "  and  brilliant  wdt  made 
him  a  general  favorite.  It  is  told  that,  while  he  was  engaged 
in  his  excise  duties,  if  he  entered  an  inn  at  midnight,  after  all 
the  inmates  were  in  bed,  the  news  of  his  arrival  circulated  from 
cellar  to  garret,  and  ere  ten  minutes  had  elapsed,  the  landlord 
and  all  his  guests  were  assembled  round  the  ingle;  the  largest 
punch-bowl  was  produced,  and  every  eye  was  turned  expectantly 
towards  their  favorite  entertainer.  "  The  highest  gentry  in  the 
neighborhood,  when  bent  on  special  merriment,  did  not  think 
the  occasion  complete  unless  the  wit  and  eloquence  of  Burns 
were  called  in  to  enliven  their  carousals." 

The  genius  of  Burns  scintillated  till  the  last,  but  excesses  and 
exposure  bore  their  inevitable  fruit,  and  Robert  Burns,  the  sweet 
singer  of  Scotland,  the  master  lyric  writer  of  the  world,  passed 
away  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-seven,  July  21,  1796. 

The  reverent  love  whj^h  his  countrymen  feel  for  their  poet 
is  shown  in  the  fact  that  they  are  said  to  sing  by  turns  the 
Psalms  of  David  and  the  songs  of  Burns.  The  truth,  beauty, 
and  power  of  the  songs  of  the  poet  ploughman,  who  rhymed  for 
love  of  beauty  and  of  truth,  have  found  an  abiding  place  in  the 
heart  of  the  world.  "  Here  is  old  Scotia's  thistle  bloomed  out 
into  a  flower  so  fair  that  its  beauty  and  perfume  fill  the  world 
with  joy." 


xxii  INTRODUCTION, 


WORDS  APPRECIATIVE  OF  ROBERT  BURNS. 

"Other  poets  may  be  the  favorites  of  a  class  or  a  clique; 
Burns  is  the  favorite  of  the  whole  world.  The  secret  of  this 
universal  favor  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  he  was  born  in  a 
lowly  condition  of  life,  close  to  our  mother  earth,  and  gave  utter- 
ance to  the  rudimentary  sentiments,  the  abiding  sorrows,  and 
the  constant  yearnings  of  human  nature." — Alfred  Austin. 

"To  homely  subjects.  Burns  communicated  the  rich  com- 
mentary of  his  nature;  they  were  all  steeped  in  Burns,  and 
they  interest  us,  not  in  themselves,  but  because  they  have  been 
passed  through  the  spirit  of  so  genuine  and  vigorous  a  man." 
—  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

"  Give  lettered  pomp  to  teeth  of  time, 
So  *  Bonnie  Doon '  but  tarry ; 
Blot  out  the  epic's  stately  rhyme, 
But  spare  his  *  Highland  Mary.' " 

—  John  G.  Whittier. 

"  Of  all  our  poets,  lyric  and  idyllic,  he  is  most  truly  nature's 
darling;  his  pictures  were  life;  his  voice  was  freedom;  his 
heart  was  strength  and  tenderness."  —  E.  C.  Stedman. 

"  Every  poet  who,  like  Burns,  increases  that  larger  tenderness 
of  the  heart,  which  not  only  loves  men,  but  hates  to  give  pain 
to  the  lower  animals,  is,  so  far  at  least,  religious  in  his  poetry. 
No  poet  ever  more  deeply  felt  the  sorrows  of  created  things 
than  Burns."  —  Stopford  Brooke.  • 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  define  and  describe  Burns's  service  to  the 
world.  It  is  plain  that  he  interpreted  Scotland  as  no  other 
country  has  been  revealed  by  a  kindred  genius.  The  sun  of 
Scotland  sparkles  in  his  verse ;  the  birds  of  Scotland  sing  in  it ; 
its  breezes  rustle;  its  waters  murmur.  Each  timorous  *wee 
beastie,'  the  *  curie  cattle/  and  the  *  silly  sheep*  are  softly 
penned  and  gathered  in  this  all-embracing  fold  of  song.    The 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  xxiii 


poet  touches  every  scene  and  sound,  every  thought  and  feeling 
—  but  the  refrain  of  all  is  Scotland.  To  what  other  man  was 
it  ever  given  so  to  transfigure  the  country  of  his  birth  and  love  ? 
Every  bird  and  flower,  every  dale  and  river,  whispers  and  re- 
peats his  name,  and  the  word  Scotland  is  sweeter  because  of 
Robert  Burns. 

"  In  setting  words  to  Scotch  melodieg.  Burns  turns  to  music 
the  emotions  common  to  humanity,  and  so  he  passes  from  the 
exclusive  love  of  Scotland  into  the  reverence  of  the  world."  — 
G.  W.  Curtis. 

"  A  certain  rugged,  sterling  worth  pervades  whatever  Burns 
has  written ;  a  virtue,  as  of  green  fields  and  mountain  breezes, 
dwells  in  his  poetry;  it  is  redolent  of  natural  life  and  hardy 
natural  men.  There  is  a  decisive  strength  in  him,  and  yet  a 
sweet  native  gracefulness.  He  does  not  write  from  hearsay, 
but  from  sight  and  experience;  it  is  the  scenes  that  he  has 
lived  and  labored  amidst  that  he  describes.  Those  scenes,  rude 
and  humble  as  they  are,  have  kindled  beautiful  emotions  in  his 
soul,  noble  thoughts,  and  definite  resolves,  and  he  speaks  forth 
what  is  in  him,  not  from  any  outward  call  of  vanity  or  interest, 
but  because  his  heart  is  too  full  to  be  silent.  .  .  .  Over  the 
lowest  provinces  of  man's  existence,  he  pours  the  glory  of  his 
own  soul,  and  they  rise,  in  shadow  and  sunshine,  softened  and 
brightened  into  a  beauty  which  other  eyes  discern  not  in  the 

highest."  —  C  ARLYLE. 

"  Through  busiest  street  and  loneliest  glen 
Are  felt  the  flashes  of  his  pen ; 
He  rules  mid  winter  snows,  and  where 

Bees  fill  their  hives ; 
Deep  in  the  general  heart  of  man 
His  power  survives." 

—  Wordsworth. 


REFERENCES. 


A  few  of  the  most  helpful  references  in  the  study  of  Robert 
Burns  are  given  below  :  — 

Arnold,  Matthew.    The  Study  of  Poetry.    (Essays  in  Criticism.) 

Blackie,  J.  S.    Burns.     (Great  Writers.) 

Scottish  Song. 

Brooke,  Stopford.    Theology  in  the  English  Poets. 

Carlyle,  Thomas.    Essay  on  Bums. 

The  Hero  as  Man  of  Lettei*s. 

Couch,  T.  Qdiller.     Adventures  in  Criticism. 

Curtis,  Geo.  W.     Oration  on  the  Unveiling  of  a  Statue  to  Burns. 

Gray,  David.     Address  upon  Bums  and  His  Poetry. 

Halliburton,  H.    Furth  in  Field.     (Bums  in  a  New  Aspect.) 

Hazlitt,  W.     Lectures  on  the  English  Poets. 

Mitchell,  J.  O.     Bums  and  His  Times. 

NicHOL,  John.     Burns.     (Encyclopaedia  Britannica.) 

Oliphant,  Mrs.  M.  O.     Literary  History  of  England.     Vol.  I. 

Reed,  H.     Lectures  on  British  Poets. 

Saintsbury,  G.    Literature  of  the  Nineteenth  Century. 

Shairp,  J.  C.    Burns.     (English  Men  of  Letters.) 

Aspects  of  Poetry.     (Scottish  Song  and  Bums.) 

Poetic  Interpretation  of  Nature. 

Stedman,  E.  C.    Nature  of  Poetry. 

Stevenson,  R.  L.  Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books.  (Some 
Aspects  of  Robert  Bums.) 

Veitch,  J.     Feeling  for  Nature  in  Scottish  Poetry. 

Walker,  H.    Three  Centuries  of  Scottish  Songs. 

Wilson,  J.  Essays  Critical  and  Imaginative.  (Genius  and  Char- 
acter of  Bums.) 


SELECTIONS   FROM  BURNS. 


THE   VISION. 

DUAN    FIRST. 

The  sun  had  clos'd  the  winter  day, 
The  curlers  quat  their  roarin  play, 
An'  hungerM  maukin  taen  her  way 

To  kail-yards  green, 
While  faithless  snaws  ilk  step  betray  5 

Whare  she  has  been. 

The  thresher's  weary  flingin-tree 
The  lee-lang  day  had  tired  me ; 
And  whan  the  day  had  closed  his  e'e, 

Far  i'  the  west,  10 

Ben  i'  the  spence,  right  pensivelie, 

I  gaed  to  rest. 

There,  lanely,  by  the  ingle-cheek, 

I  sat  and  ey'd  the  spewing  reek. 

That  fiird,  wi'  hoast-provoking  smeek,  15 

The  auld  clay  biggin ; 
An'  heard  the  restless  rattons  squeak 

About  the  riggin. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


All  in  this  mottie,  misty  clime, 

I  backward  musM  on  wasted  time,  20 

How  I  had  spent  my  youthfu'  prime, 

An'  done  nae-thing, 
But  stringin'  blethers  up  in  rhyme, 

For  fools  to  sing. 

Had  I  to  guid  advice  but  harkit,  25 

I  might,  by  this,  hae  led  a  market, 
Or  strutted  in  a  bank,  and  clarkit 

My  cash-account : 
While  here,  half-mad,  half-fed,  half-sarkit. 

Is  a'  th'  amount.  30 

I  started,  muttVing,  ^blockhead!   coof!' 
And  heavM  on  high  my  waukit  loof. 
To  swear  by  a'  yon  starry  roof. 

Or  some  rash  aith. 
That  I,  henceforth,  would  be  rhyme-proof  35 

Till  my  last  breath  — 

When  click!   the  string  the  snick  did  draw; 
An'  jee !   the  door  gaed  to  the  wa' ; 
An'  by  my  ingle-lowe  I  saw. 

Now  bleezin  bright,  40 

A  tight,  outlandish  hizzie,  braw, 

Come  full  in  sight. 

Ye  need  na  doubt,  I  held  my  whisht; 

The  infant  aith,  half-form'd,  was  crusht; 

I  glowr'd  as  eerie's  I'd  been  dusht  45 

In  some  wild  glen ; 
When  sweet,  like  modest  worth,  she  blusht. 

An'  stepped  ben. 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holly-boughs 

Were  twisted,  gracefu',  round  her  brows,  50 


THE   VISION. 


I  took  her  for  some  Scottish  Muse, 

By  that  same  token ; 
And  come  to  stop  those  reckless  vows, 

Would  soon  been  broken. 

A  *  hair-brain'd,  sentimental  trace,'  55 

Was  strongly  marked  in  her  face ; 
A  wildly-witty,  rustic  grace 

Shone  full  upon  her; 
Her  eye,  ev'n  turned  on  empty  space. 

Beamed  keen  with  honor.  60 

Down  flowed  her  robe,  a  tartan  sheen, 
Till  half  a  leg  was  scrimply  seen ; 
And  such  a  leg!   my  bonnie  Jean 

Could  only  peer  it ; 
Sac  straught,  sae  taper,  tight,  and  clean,  65 

Nane  else  came  near  it. 

Her  mantle  large,  of  greenish  hue, 

My  gazing  wonder  chiefly  drew ; 

Deep  lights  and  shades,  bold-mingling,  threw 

A  lustre  grand  ;  70 

And  seem'd,  to  my  astonished  view, 

A  well-known  land. 

Here,  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost; 

There,  mountains  to  the  skies  were  tost: 

Here,  tumbling  billows  marked  the  coast  75 

With  surging  foam ; 
There,  distant  shone  Art's  lofty  boast, 

The  lordly  dome. 

Here,  Doon  pour'd  down  his  far-fetch 'd  floods ; 
There,  well-fed  Irwine  stately  thuds,  80 

Auld  hermit  Ayr  staw  thro'  his  woods, 
On  to  the  shore; 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 


And  many  a  lesser  torrent  scuds, 
With  seeming  roar. 

Low,  in  a  sandy  valley  spread,  85 

An  ancient  borough  rearM  her  head; 
Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read, 

She  boasts  a  race. 
To  ev'ry  nobler  virtue  bred, 

And  polish'd  grace.  90 

By  stately  towV  or  palace  fair. 

Or  ruins  pendent  in  the  air. 

Bold  stems  of  heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern ; 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  some  seem'd  to  dare,       95 

With  feature  stern. 

My  heart  did  glowing  transport  feel. 

To  see  a  race  heroic  wheel. 

And  brandish  round  the  deep-dy'd  steel 

In  sturdy  blows  ;  100 

While  back-recoiling  seemM  to  reel 

Their  Suthron  foes. 

His   Country's  Saviour,  mark  him  well  I 

Bold  Richardton's  heroic  swell ; 

The  chief,  on  Sark  who  glorious  fell  105 

In  high  command; 
And  he  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 

There,  where  a  sceptr'd  Pictish  shade 

Stalked  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid,  no 

I  marked  a  martial  race,  portrayed 

In  colors  strong; 
Bold,  soldier-featur'd,  undismayM, 

They  strode  along. 


THE   VISION, 


Thro'  many  a  wild,  romantic  grove,  115 

Near  many  a  hermit-fancy'd  cove, 

(Fit  haunts  for  Friendship  or  for  Love 

In  musing  mood,) 
An  aged  Judge,  I  saw  him  rove, 

Dispensing  good.  120 

With  deep-struck  reverential  awe 
The  learned  Sire  and  Son  I  saw : 
To  Nature's  God  and  Nature's  law 

They  gave  their  lore ; 
This,  all  its  source  and  end  to  draw,  125 

That,  to  adore. 

Brydon's  brave  ward  I  well  could  spy. 
Beneath  old  Scotia's  smiling  eye ; 
Who  caird  on  Fame,  low  standing  by. 

To  hand  him  on,  130 

Where  many  a  patriot  name  on  high. 

And  hero  shone.  « 


DUAN   SECOND. 

With  musing-deep,  astonish'd  stare, 
I  view'd  the  heavenly-seeming  Fair; 
A  whisp'ring  throb  did  witness  bear,  135 

Of  kindred  sweet. 
When  with  an  elder  sister's  air 

She  did  me  greet. 

^All  hail!    my  own  inspired  bard! 

In  me  thy  native  Muse  regard!  140 

Nor  longer  mourn  thy  fate  is  hard, 

Thus  poorly  low! 
I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward 

As  we  bestow. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 


*  Know,  the  great  Genius  of  this  land  145 
Has  many  a  light,  aerial  band, 

Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command, 

Harmoniously, 
As  arts  or  arms  they  understand. 

Their  labors  ply.  1 50 

*They  Scotia's  race  among  them  share; 
Some  fire  the  soldier  on  to  dare ; 
Some  rouse  the  patriot  up  to  bare 

Corruption's  heart : 
Some  teach  the  bard  —  a  darling  care —  155 

The  tuneful  art. 

*  'Mong  swelling  floods  of  reeking  gore, 
They,  ardent,  kindling  spirits  pour; 
Or,  'mid  the  venal  senate's  roar, 

They,  sightless,  stand,  160 

To  mend  the  honest  patriot-lore. 
And  grace  the  hand. 

*And  when  the  bard,  or  hoary  sage, 

Charm  or  instruct  the  future  age. 

They  bind  the  wild  poetic  rage  165 

In  energy. 
Or  point  the  inconclusive  page 

Full  on  the  eye. 

< Hence,  Fullarton,  the  brave  and  young; 
Hence,  Dempster's  zeal-inspired  tongue:  170 

Hence,  sweet  harmonious  Beattie  sung 

His  "  Minstrel  lays  ;  " 
Or  tore,  with  noble  ardor  stung, 

The  sceptic's  bays. 

*  To  lower  orders  are  assign'd  175 
The  humbler  ranks  of  human-kind, 


THE   VISION, 


The  rustic  bard,  the  labVing  hind, 

The  artisan ; 
All  choose,  as  various  they're  inclined, 

The  various  man.  i8o 

'  When  yellow  waves  the  heavy  grain, 
The  threatening  storm  some  strongly  rein; 
Some  teach  to  meliorate  the  plain 

With  tillage-skill; 
And  some  instruct  the  shepherd-train,  185 

Blythe  o'er  the  hill. 

*  Some  hint  the  lover's  harmless  wile ; 
Some  grace  the  maiden's  artless  smile; 
Some  soothe  the  laborer's  weary  toil. 

For  humble  gains,  190 

And  make  his  cottage-scenes  beguile 

His  cares  and  pains. 

*Some,  bounded  to  a  district-space, 
Explore  at  large  man's  infant  race. 
To  mark  the  embryotic  trace  195 

Of  rustic  bard ; 
And  careful  note  each  op'ning  grace, 

A  guide  and  guard. 

'  Of  these  am  I  —  Coila  my  name  ; 

And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim,  200 

Where  once  the  Campbells,  chiefs  of  fame. 

Held  ruling  pow'r: 
I  mark'd  thy  embryo-tuneful  flame 

Thy  natal  hour. 

^With  future  hope,  I  oft  would  gaze,  205 

Fond,  on  thy  little  early  ways, 
Thy  rudely-caroird,  chiming  phrase,     ' 
In  uncouth  rhymes, 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


Fir'd  at  the  simple,  artless  lays 

Of  other  times.  210 

*  I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar; 

Or  when  the  North  his  fleecy  store 

Drove  thro'  the  sky, 
I  saw  grim  Nature's  visage  hoar,  215 

Struck  thy  young  eye. 

*0r  when  the  deep  green-mantPd  earth 
Warm-cherish'd  ev'ry  floweret's  birth, 
And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth 

In  evVy  grove,  220 

I  saw  thee  eye  the  general  mirth 

With  boundless  love. 

*When  ripen'd  fields,  and  azure  skies, 
Caird  forth  the  reaper's  rustling  noise, 
I  saw  thee  leave  their  ev'ning  joys,  225 

And  lonely  stalk, 
To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  rise 

In  pensive  walk. 

•  * 

*When  youthful  love,  warm-blushing  strong. 

Keen-shivering,  shot  thy  nerves  along,  230 

Those  accents,  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 

Th'  adored  Name, 
I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song. 

To  soothe  thy  flame. 

*  I  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play,  235 
Wild  send  thee  Pleasure's  devious  way, 

Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor  ray. 

By  passion  driven ; 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  Heaven.  240 


THE    VISION, 


'\  taught  thy  manners-painting  strains, 
The  loves,  the  ways  of  simple  swains, 
Till  now,  o'er  all  my  wide  domains 

Thy  fame  extends ; 
And  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains,  245 

Become  thy  friends. 

*Thou  canst  not  learn,  nor  can  I  show, 
To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape-glow; 
Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  throe. 

With  Shenstone's  art;  250 

Or  pour,  with  Gray,  the  moving  flow 

Warm  on  the  heart. 

'  Yet,  all  beneath  th'  unrivalPd  rose, 

The  lowly  daisy  sweetly  blows ; 

Tho'  large  the  forest's  monarch  throws  255 

His  army-shade. 
Yet  green  the  juicy  hawthorn  grows, 

Adown  the  glade. 

*  Then  never  murmur  nor  repine ; 

Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine;  260 

And  trust  me,  not  Potosi's  mine, 

Nor  king's  regard, 
Can  give  a  bliss  o'ermatching  thine, 

A  rustic  bard. 

'To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one,  265 

Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan; 
Preserve  the  dignity  of  Man, 

With  soul  erect ; 
And  trust,  the  Universal  Plan 

W^ill  all  protect.  270 

*And  wear  thou  this''  —  she  solemn  said, 
And  bound  the  holly  round  my  head : 


10  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

The  polishM  leaves,  and  berries  red, 

Did  rustling  play ; 
And,  like  a  passing  thought,  she  fled  275 

In  light  away. 


THE   COTTER'S  SATURDAY   NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED   TO   ROBERT   AIKEN,    ESQ.    OF   AYR. 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

Gray. 

My  lov'd,  my  honorM,  much  respected  friend! 

No  mercenary  bard  his  homage  pays : 
With  honest  pride,  I  scorn  each  selfish  end ; 

My  dearest  meed,  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise : 
To  you  I  sing,  in  simple  Scottish  lays,  5 

The  lowly  train  in  life's  sequestered  scene ; 
The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways ; 

What  Aiken  in  a  cottage  would  have  been ; 
Ah!  tho'  his  worth  unknown,  far  happier  there,  I  ween. 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh  ;  10 

The  shortening  winter-day  is  near  a  close ; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  pleugh ; 

The  blackening  trains  o'  craws  to  their  repose : 
The  toil-worn  Cotter  frae  his  labor  goes. 

This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an  end,  15 

Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes, 

Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend. 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course  does  hameward  bend. 


THE    COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT.  11 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree  ;  20 

Th'  expectant  wee-things,  toddlin,  stacher  through 
•  To  meet  their  Dad,  wi'  flichterin  noise  an'  glee. 
His  wee  bit  ingle,  blinkin  bonnilie. 

His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thrifty  wifie's  smile, 
The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee,  25 

Does  a'  his  weary  carking  cares  beguile. 
An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labor  an'  his  toil. 

Belyve,  the  elder  bairns  come  drapping  in, 

At  service  out,  amang  the  farmers  roun' ; 
Some  ca'  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie  rin  30 

A  cannie  errand  to  a  neebor  town : 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman-grown. 

In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in  her  e'e. 
Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  shew  a  braw  new  gown. 

Or  deposite  her  sair-won  penny-fee,  35 

To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 

With  joy  unfeign'd  brothers  and  sisters  meet. 

An'  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly  spiers : 
The  social  hours,  swift-wing'd,  unnoticed  fleet ; 

Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears ;  40 

The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years  ; 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view. 
The  mother,  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  sheers. 

Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel's  the  new ; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due.  45 

Their  master's  an'  their  mistress's  command. 

The  younkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey ; 
An'  mind  their  labors  wi'  an  eydent  hand, 

An'  ne'er,  tho'  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk  or  play : 
'  An'  O !  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway,  50 

An'  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  an'  night ! 


12  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray, 

Implore  His  counsel  and  assisting  might : 
They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the  Lord  aright! ' 

But  hark!  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door ;  55 

Jenny,  wha  kens  the  meaning  o'  the  same. 
Tells  how  a  neebor  lad  came  o'er  the  moor, 

To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 
The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  flame 

Sparkle  in  Jenny's  e'e,  and  flush  her  cheek ;  60 

Wi'  heart-struck,  anxious  care,  inquires  his  name, 

While  Jenny  hafflins  is  afraid  to  speak ; 
Weel  pleased  the  mother  hears,  it's  nae  wild,  worthless  rake. 

Wi'  kindly  welcome,  Jenny  brings  him  ben ; 

A  strappin'  youth,  he  takes  the  mother's  eye ;  65 

Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  ill  ta'en ; 

The  father  cracks  of  horses,  pleughs,  and  kye. 
The  youngster's  artless  heart  o'erflows  wi'  joy, 

But  blate  an'  laithfu',  scarce  can  weel  behave ; 
The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles,  can  spy  70 

What  makes  the  youth  sae  bashfu'  an'  sae  grave ; 
Weel-pleas'd  to  think  her  bairn's  respected  like  the  lave. 

O  happy  love!  where  love  like  this  is  found! 

O  heart-felt  raptures!  bliss  beyond  compare! 
I've  pac^d  much  this  weary,  mortal  round,  75 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare  — 
*  If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  spare. 

One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 
'Tis  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair. 

In  other's  arms  breathe  out  the  tender  tale,  80 

Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn  that  scents  the  ev'ning  gale.' 

Is  there,  in  human  form,  that  bears  a  heart  — 
A  wretch!  a  villain!  lost  to  love  and  truth! 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art, 


THE    COTTERS   SATURDAY  NIGHT.  13 

Betray  sweet  Jenny''s  unsuspecting  youth?  85 

Curse  on  his  perjurM  arts!  dissembhng  smooth! 

Are  honor,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exiPd  ? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth, 

Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their  child? 
Then  paints  the  ruin'd  maid,  and  their  distraction  wild?    90 

But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, 

The  halesome  parritch,  chief  o'  Scotia's  food  ; 
The  soupe  their  only  hawkie  does  afford, 

That  'yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her  cood ; 
The  dame  brings  forth  in  complimental  mood,  95 

To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hain'd  kebbuck,  fell, 
An'  aft  he's  prest,  an'  aft  he  ca's  it  guid ; 

The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous,  will  tell. 
How  'twas  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell. 

The  cheefu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face,  lob 

They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide ; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace. 

The  big  ha'-Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride : 
His  bonnet  revVently  is  laid  aside. 

His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  an'  bare ;  105 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care. 
And  ^  Let  us  worship  God! '  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise ; 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim  :  no 

Perhaps  *  Dundee's '  wild  warbling  measures  rise. 

Or  plaintive  *  Martyrs,'  worthy  of  the  name  ; 
Or  noble  *  Elgin '  beets  the  heav'nward  flame, 

The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays  : 
Compar'd  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame ;  115 

The  tickl'd  ears  no  heart-felt  raptures  raise ; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 


14  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page, 

How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high  ; 
Or,  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage  120 

With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny ; 
Or  how  the  royal  bard  did  groaning  lie 

Beneath  the  stroke  of  Heaven's  avenging  ire  ; 
Or  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry ; 

Or  rapt  Isaiah's  wild,  seraphic  fire ;  125 

Or  other  holy  seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre.  * 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme, 

How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed ; 
How  He,  who  bore  in  Heaven  the  second  name, 

Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  His  head ;  130 

How  His  first  followers  and  servants  sped ; 

The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land : 
How  he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished. 

Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand ; 
And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pronounc'd  by  Heaven's 
command.  135 

Then  kneeling  down,  to  Heaven's  Eternal  King, 

The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays : 
Hope  *  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing,' 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days : 
There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays,  140 

No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear. 
Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise. 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear; 
While  circling  Time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 

Compared  with  this,  how  poor  Religion's  pride,  145 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method,  and  of  art. 
When  men  display  to  congregations  wide 

Devotion's  ev'ry  grace,  except  the  heart! 
The  Power,  incens'd,  the  pageant  will  desert, 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole ;  1 50 


THE    COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT,  15 

But  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 

May  hear,  well  pleas'd,  the  language  of  the  soul ; 
And  in  His  Book  of  Life  the  inmates  poor  enroll. 

Then  homeward  all  take  off  their  sevVal  way ; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest :  155 

The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay. 

And  proffer  up  to  Heav'n  the  warm  request. 
That  He  who  stills  the  raven\s  clamorous  nest. 

And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flowVy  pride. 
Would,  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees  the  best,  160 

For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide ; 
But  chiefly,  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 

That  makes  her  lov'd  at  home,  revered  abroad : 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings,  165 

^  An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God : ' 
And  certes,  in  fair  virtue's  heavenly  road. 

The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind ; 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  a  cumbrous  load, 

Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind,  170 

Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  relin'd! 

O  Scotia!  my  dear,  my  native  soil! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  Heaven  is  sent! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  mstic  toil 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content!       175 
And,  oh!  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 

From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile ; 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while, 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-lov'd  isle.        180 

Thou!  who  pour'd  the  patriotic  tide 
That  streamed  thro'  Wallace's  undaunted  heart ; 
Who  dar'd  to,  nobly,  stem  tyrannic  pride, 


16  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part, 
(The  patriot's  God,  peculiarly  thou  art,  185 

His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward!) 
O  never,  never,  Scotia's  realm  desert. 

But  still  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot-bard, 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard! 


EPITAPH   ON    MY   EVER   HONORED    FATHER. 

O  YE,  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains. 

Draw  near  with  pious  revVence  and  attend! 
Here  lie  the  loving  husband's  dear  remains, 

The  tender  father,  and  the  generous  friend; 
The  pitying  heart  that  felt  for  human  woe, 

The  dauntless  heart  that  fear'd  no  human  pride ; 
The  friend  of  man  —  to  vice  alone  a  foe; 

For  *ev'n  his    failings  lean'd  to  virtue's  side.' 


TO  WILLIAM   SIMPSON, 

SCHOOLMASTER,   OCHILTREE. 

GAT  your  letter,  winsome  Willie ; 
Wi'  gratefu'  heart  I  thank  you  brawlie; 
Tho'  I  maun  say't,  I  wad  be  silly. 

An'  unco  vain. 
Should  I  believe,  my  coaxin  billie, 

Your  flatterin  strain. 


May,  1785. 


TO    WILLIAM  SIMPSON.  17 

But  Fse  believe  ye  kindly  meant  it, 
I  sud  be  laith  to  think  ye  hinted 
Ironic  satire,  sidelins  sklented 

On  my  poor  Musie ;  lo 

Tho'  in  sic  phraisin  terms  yeVe  penned  it, 

I  scarce  excuse  ye. 

Auld  Coila,  now,  may  fidge  fu'  fain, 

She's  gotten  bardies  o'  her  ain, 

Chiels  wha  their  chanters  winna  hain,  15 

But  tune  their  lays. 
Till  echoes  a'  resound  again 

Her  weel-sung  praise. 

Nae  poet  thought  her  worth  his  while, 

To  set  her  name  in  measured  style ;  20 

She  lay  like  some  unkenn*d-of  isle, 

Beside  New  Holland, 
Or  whare  wild-meeting  oceans  boil 

Besouth  Magellan. 

Ramsay  an'  famous  Fergusson  25 

Gied  Forth  an'  Tay  a  lift  aboon  ; 
Yarrow  an'  Tweed,  to  monie  a  tune, 

Owre  Scotland  rings. 
While  Irwin,  Lugar,  Ayr,  an'  Doon, 

Naebody  sings.  30 

Th'  Ilissus,  Tiber,  Thames,  an'  Seine, 
Glide  sweet  in  monie  a  tunefu'  line! 
But,  Willie,  set  your  fit  to  mine. 

An'  cock  your  crest. 
We'll  gar  our  streams  an'  burnies  shine  35 

Up  wi'  the  l5est. 

We'll  sing  auld  Coila's  plains  an'  fells. 
Her  moors  red-brown  wi'  heather  bells, 


18  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Her  banks  an'  braes,  her  dens  an'  dells, 

Where  glorious  Wallace  40 

Aft  bure  the  gree,  as  story  tells, 
Frae  Suthron  billies. 

At  Wallace'  name,  what  Scottish  blood 

But  boils  up  in  a  spring-tide  flood! 

Oft  have  our  fearless  fathers  strode  45 

By  Wallace'  side, 
Still  pressing  onward,  red-wat-shod, 

Or  glorious  dy'd. 

O,  sweet  are  Coila's  haughs  an'  woods, 

When  lintwhites  chant  amang  the  buds,  50 

And  jinkin  hares,  in  amorous  whids. 

Their  loves  enjoy. 
While  thro'  the  braes  the  cushat  croods, 

Wi'  wailfu'  cry! 

Ev'n  winter  bleak  has  charms  to  me  55 

When  winds  rave  thro'  the  naked  tree ; 
Or  frosts  on  hills  of  Ochiltree 

Are  hoary  gray ; 
Or  bhnding  drifts  wild-furious  flee. 

Darkening  the  day  !  60 

O  Nature!   a'  thy  shews  an'  forms 
To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  hae  charms! 
Whether  the  summer  kindly  warms, 

Wi'  life  an'  light. 
Or  winter  howls,  in  gusty  storms,  65 

The  lang,  dark  night! 

The  muse,  nae  poet  ever  fand  her. 
Till  by  himsel  he  learn'd  to  wander, 
Adown  some  trottin  burn's  meander. 

An'  no  think  lang;  70 


EPISTLE    TO  JOHN  LA  PR  A  IK.  19 

O  sweet,  to  stray  an'  pensive  ponder 
A  heart-felt  sang! 

The  warly  race  may  drudge  an'  drive, 

Hog-shouther,  jundie,  stretch,  an'  strive, 

Let  me  fair  Nature's  face  descrive,  75 

And  I,  wi'  pleasure. 
Shall  let  the  busy,  grumbling  hive 

Bum  owre  their  treasure. 

Fareweel,  ^my  rhyme-composing  brither!' 

We've  been  owre  lang  unkenn'd  to  ither:  80 

Now  let  us  lay  our  heads  thegither, 

In  love  fraternal: 
May  Envy  wallop  in  a  tether. 

Black  fiend,  infernal! 

While  Highlandmen  hate  tolls  an'  taxes ;  85 

While  moorlan'  herds  Hke  guid,  fat  braxies 
While  terra  firma,  on  her  axis, 

Diurnal  turns. 
Count  on  a  friend,  in  faith  an'  practice, 

In  Robert  Burns. 


STANZAS    FROM    EPISTLES    TO    JOHN    LAPRAIK, 
AN  OLD   SCO^mSH   BARD. 

While  briers  an'  woodbines  budding  green, 
An'  paitricks  scraichin  loud  at  e'en. 
An'  morning  poussie  whiddin  seen. 

Inspire  my  muse, 
This  freedom,  in  an  unknown  frien',  5 

I  pray  excuse. 


20  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

On  Fasten-e'en  we  had  a  rockin, 

To  ca'  the  crack  and  weave  our  stockin; 

And  there  was  muckle  fun  and  jokin, 

Ye  need  na  doubt ;  lo 

At  length  we  had  a  hearty  yokin' 

At  *sang  about/ 

There  was  ae  sang,  amang  the  rest, 

Aboon  them  a'  it  pleas'd  me  best, 

That  some  kind  husband  had  addrest  15 

To  some  sweet  wife : 
It  thirl'd  the  heart-strings  thro'  the  breast, 

A'  to  the  life. 

I  am  nae  poet,  in  a  sense. 

But  just  a  rhymer,  like,  by  chance,  20 

An'  hae  to  learning  nae  pretence. 

Yet,  what  the  matter? 
Whene'er  my  muse  does  on  me  glance, 

I  jingle  at  her. 

Your  critic-folk  may  cock  their  nose,  25 

And  say,  *  How  can  you  e'er  propose. 
You  wha  ken  hardly  verse  frae  prose, 

To  mak  a  sang?' 
But,  by  your  leave,  my  learned  foes, 

Ye're  maybe  wrang.  30 

Gie  me  ae  spark  o'  Nature's  fire. 

That's  a'  the  learning  I  desire ; 

Then  tho'  I  drudge  thro'  dub  an'  mire 

At  pleugh  or  cart. 
My  Muse,  though  hamely  in  attire,  35 

May  touch  the  heart. 

*0  Thou  wha  gies  us  each  guid  gift! 
Gie  me  o'  wit  an'  sense  a  lift. 
Then  turn  me,  if  Thou  please,  adrift. 


TO  A  MOUSE,  21 


Thro'  Scotland  wide  ;  40 

Wi'  cits  nor  lairds  I  wadna  shift. 
In  a'  their  pride! ' 

For  thus  the  royal  mandate  ran, 

When  first  the  human  race  began, 

*The  social,  friendly,  honest  man,  45 

Whatever  he  be, 
'Tis  he  fulfils  great  Nature's  plan, 

And  none  but  he ! ' 


TO   A   MOUSE, 

ON  TURNING   HER   UP   IN   HER   NEST  WITH   THE 
PLOUGH,    NOVEMBER,    1785. 

Wee,  sleekit,  cow'rin,  tim'rous  beastie, 
O,  what  a  panic's  in  thy  breastie! 
Thou  need  na  start  awa  sae  hasty, 

Wi'  bickering  brattle! 
I  wad  be  laith  to  rin  an'  chase  thee,  5 

Wi'  murd'ring  pattle! 

I'm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion 
Has  broken  Nature's  social  union. 
An'  justifies  that  ill  opinion, 

Which  makes  thee  startle,  10 

At  me,  thy  poor,  earth-born  companion, 

An'  fellow-mortal! 

I  doubt  na,  whiles,  but  thou  may  thieve ; 

What  then?  poor  beastie,  thou  maun  live! 

A  daimen-icker  in  a  thrave  15 

'S  a  sma'  request : 
ril  get  a  blessin  wi'  the  lave, 

And  never  miss't! 


22  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Thy  wee  bit  housie,  too,  in  ruin! 

Its  silly  wa's  the  win^s  are  strewin!  20 

An^  naething,  now,  to  big  a  new  ane, 

O'  foggage  green; 
An'  bleak  December's  winds  ensuin, 

Baith  snell  an'  keen! 

Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  an'  waste,  25 

An'  weary  winter  comin  fast, 
An'  cozie  here,  beneath  the  blast, 

Thou  thought  to  dwell  — 
Till  crash !   the  cruel  coulter  past. 

Out  thro'  thy  cell.  30 

That  wee  bit  heap  o'  leaves  an  stibble. 
Has  cost  thee  mony  a  weary  nibble! 
Now  thou's  turn'd  out,  for  a'  thy  trouble. 

But  house  or  hald. 
To  thole  the  winter's  sleety  dribble,  35 

An'  cranreuch  cauld! 

But,  Mousie,  thou  art  no  thy  lane. 
In  proving  foresight  may  be  vain : 
The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 

Gang  aft  a-gley,  40 

An'  lea'e  us  nought  but  grief  an'  pain. 

For  promis'd  joy. 

Still  thou  art  blest,  compar'd  wi'  me! 
^       The  present  only  toucheth  thee : 

But,  och  !    I  backward  cast  my  e'e  45 

On  prospects  drear! 
An'  forward,  tho'  I  canna  see, 

I  guess  an'  fear! 


( 


/ 


A    WINTER  NIGHT.  23 


A   WINTER   NIGHT. 

Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are, 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm ! 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads,  and  unfed  sides, 
Your  loop'd  and  window'd  raggedness,  defend  you, 
From  seasons  such  as  these? 

Shakespeare, 

When  biting  Boreas,  fell  and  doure, 
Sharp  shivers  thro'  the  leafless  bowV; 
When  Phoebus  gies  a  short-liv'd  glowV, 

Far  south  the  lift, 
Dim-dark'ning  thro'  the  flaky  show'r,  5 

Or  whirling  drift : 

Ae  night  the  storm  the  steeples  rocked, 
Poor  Labor  sweet  in  sleep  was  locked, 
While  burns,  wi'  snawy  wreaths  up-choked, 

Wild-eddying  swirl,  10 

Or  thro'  the  mining  outlet  bocked, 

Down  headlong  hurl. 

Listening  the  doors  an'  winnocks  rattle, 

I  thought  me  on  the  ourie  cattle. 

Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle  15 

O'  winter  war. 
And  thro'  the  drift,  deep-lairing,  sprattle, 

Beneath  a  scaur. 

Ilk  happing  bird,  wee,  helpless  thing! 

That,  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring,  20 

Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing. 

What  comes  o'  thee? 
Whare  wilt  thou  cow'r  thy  chittering  wing. 

An'  close  thy  e'e.'' 


24  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Ev'n  you  on  murdVing  errands  toil'd,  25 

Lone  from  your  savage  homes  exiPd, 

The  blood-stain'd  roost,  and  sheep-cote  spoiled 

My  heart  forgets, 
While  pitiless  the  tempest  wild 

Sore  on  you  beats.  30 

Now  Phoebe,  in  her  midnight  reign. 
Dark  muffl'd,  vievv'd  the  dreary  plain  ; 
Still  crowding  thoughts,  a  pensive  train. 

Rose  in  my  soul. 
When  on  my  ear  this  plaintive  strain,  35 

Slow,  solemn,  stole  — 

*  Blow,  blow,  ye  winds,  with  heavier  gust! 

And  freeze,  thou  bitter-biting  frost! 

Descend,  ye  chilly,  smothering  snows! 

Not  all  your  rage,  as  now  united,  shows  40 

More  hard  unkindness,  unrelenting, 

Vengeful  malice  unrepenting, 
Than  heav'n-illumin'd  man  on  brother  man  bestows! 
See  stern  Oppression's  iron  grip. 

Or  mad  Ambition's  gory  hand,  45 

Sending,  like  blood-hounds  from  the  slip, 

Woe,  want,  and  murder  o'er  a  land! 
Ev'n  in  the  peaceful  rural  vale. 
Truth,  weeping,  tells  the  mournful  tale. 
How  pamper'd  Luxury,  Flatt'ry  by  her  side,  50 

The  parasite  empoisoning  her  ear. 

With  all  the  servile  wretches  in  the  rear, 
Looks  o^er  proud  property,  extended  wide ; 

And  eyes  the  simple  rustic  hind. 

Whose  toil  upholds  the  glittVing  show,  55 

A  creature  of  another  kind. 

Some  coarser  substance,  unrefin'd, 
Plac'd  for  her  lordly  use  thus  far,  thus  vile,  below! 


TO  A   MOUNTAIN  DAISY,  25 

Oh  ye!  who,  sunk  in  beds  of  down, 
Feel  not  a  want  but  what  yourselves  create,  60 

Think,  for  a  moment,  on  his  wretched  fate. 

Whom  friends  and  fortune  quite  disown! 
Ill-satisfied  keen  nature^s  clamorous  call, 

Stretch'd  on  his  straw  he  lays  himself  to  sleep, 
While  thro'  the  ragged  roof  and  chinky  wall,  65 

Chill  o'er  his  slumbers,  piles  the  drifty  heap! 

Think  on  the  dungeon's  grim  confine, 

Where  Guilt  and  poor  Misfortune  pine! 

Guilt,  erring  man,  relenting  view! 

But  shall  thy  legal  rage  pursue  70 

The  wretch,  already  crushed  low 

By  cruel  Fortune's  undeserved  blow? 
Affliction's  sons  are  brothers  in  distress ; 
A  brother  to  relieve,  how  exquisite  the  bliss!' 

I  heard  nae  mair,  for  Chanticleer  75 

Shook  off"  the  pouthery  snaw. 
And  hail'd  the  morning  with  a  cheer, 

A  cottage-rousing  craw. 

But  deep  this  truth  impressed  my  mind  — 
Thro'  all  His  works  abroad,  80 

The  heart  benevolent  and  kind, 
The  most  resembles  God. 


TO   A   MOUNTAIN   DAISY, 

ON    TURNING   ONE   DOWN    WITH   THE   PLOUGH,    IN   APRIL,    1 786. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flowV, 
Thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour; 
For  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure 


26  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Thy  slender  stem. 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  powV,  5 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 

Alas!   it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet, 
The  bonnie  lark,  companion  meet! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet! 

Wi'  spreckPd  breast,  10 

When  upward-springing,  blythe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  east. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north 

Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth ; 

Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth  15 

Amid  the  storm, 
Scarce  reared  above  the  parent-earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flowVs  our  gardens  yield. 

High  sheltYing  woods  and  wa's  maun  shield,  20 

But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield 

O'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  histie  stibble-field, 

Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad,  25 

Thy  snawie  bosom  sun-ward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise; 
But  now  the  share  uptears  thy  bed. 

And  low  thou  lies!  30 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  maid. 
Sweet  flow  Vet  of  the  rural  shade! 
By  love's  simplicity  betray'd. 

And  guileless  trust, 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soird,  is  laid  35 

Low  i'  the  dust. 


ON  SCARING  SOME    WATER  FOWL,  27 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  bard, 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starred! 

Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

Of  prudent  lore,  40 

Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er! 

Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  giv'n, 

Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  has  striven. 

By  human  pride  or  cunning  driven  45 

To  misery's  brink. 
Till  wrench'd  of  evVy  stay  but  Heav'n, 

He,  ruin'd,  sink! 

Ev'n  thou  who  mourn'st  the  daisy's  fate. 

That  fate  is  thine  —  no  distant  date  ;  50 

Stern  Ruin's  ploughshare  drives  elate. 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till  crushed  beneath  the  furrow's  weight, 
Shall  be  thy  doom! 


ON   SCARING  SOME  WATER  FOWL 

IN    LOCH-TURIT,   A    WILD    SCENE    AMONG    THE    HILLS    OF 
OCHTERTYRE. 

Why,  ye  tenants  of  the  lake. 
For  me  your  wat'ry  haunt  forsake? 
Tell  me,  fellow-creatures,  why 
At  my  presence  thus  you  fly? 
Why  disturb  your  social  joys, 
Parent,  filial,  kindred  ties?  — 
Common  friend  to  you  and  me,     * 
Nature's  gifts  to  all  are  free; 


28  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Peaceful  keep  your  dimpling  wave, 

Busy  feed,  or  wanton  lave ;  lo 

Or,  beneath  the  sheltering  rock, 

Bide  the  surging  billow's  shock. 

Conscious,  blushing  for  our  race, 
Soon,  too  soon,  your  fears  I  trace. 
Man,  your  proud,  usurping  foe,  15 

Would  be  lord  of  all  below ; 
Plumes  himself  in  Freedom's  pride. 
Tyrant  stern  to  all  beside. 

The  eagle,  from  the  cliffy  brow, 
Marking  you  his  prey  below,  20 

In  his  breast  no  pity  dwells. 
Strong  necessity  compels. 
But  man,  to  whom  alone  is  giv'n 
A  ray  direct  from  pitying  Heav'n, 
Glories  in  his  heart  humane —  25 

And  creatures  for  his  pleasure  slain.  * 

In  these  savage,  liquid  plains. 
Only  known  to  wandVing  swains. 
Where  the  mossy  rivulet  strays, 
Far  from  human  haunts  and  ways ;  30 

All  on  Nature  you  depend, 
And  life's  poor  season  peaceful  spend. 

Or,  if  man's  superior  might 
Dare  invade  your  native  right, 
On  the  lofty  ether  borne,  35 

Man  with  all  his  pow'rs  you  scorn ; 
Swiftly  seek,  on  clanging  wings. 
Other  lakes  and  other  springs ; 
And  the  foe  you  cannot  brave, 
Scorn  at  least  to  be  his  slave.  40 


VERSES.  29 


VERSES 

ON  THE   DESTRUCTION   OF   THE   WOODS   NEAR   DRUMLANRIG. 

As  on  the  banks  o'  wandering  Nith, 

Ae  smiling  simmer-morn  I  strayed, 
And  traced  its  bonnie  howes  and  haughs, 

Where  linties  sang  and  lambkins  played, 
I  sat  me  down  upon  a  craig,  5 

And  drank  my  fill  o^  fancy's  dream, 
When,  from  the  eddying  deep  below, 

Uprose  the  genius  of  the  stream. 

Dark,  like  the  frowning  rock,  his  brow. 

And  troubled,  like  his  wintry  wave,  10 

And  deep,  as  sughs  the  boding  wind 

Amang  his  caves,  the  sigh  he  gave  — 
'And  come  ye  here,  my  son,'  he  cried, 

'To  wander  in  my  birken  shade? 
To  muse  some  favorite  Scottish  theme,  15 

Or  sing  some  favorite  Scottish  maid? 

'There  was  a  time,  it's  nae  lang  syne. 

Ye  might  hae  seen  me  in  my  pride. 
When  a'  my  banks  sae  bravely  saw 

Their  woody  pictures  in  my  tide ;  20 

When  hanging  beech  and  spreading  elm 

Shaded  my  stream  sae  clear  and  cool, 
And  stately  oaks  their  twisted  arms 

Threw  broad  and  dark  across  the  pool ; 

'When  glinting,  through  the  trees,  appeared         25 
The  wee  white  cot  aboon  the  mill, 

And  peacefu'  rose  its  ingle  reek. 
That  slowly  curled  up  the  hill. 

But  now  the  cot  is  bare  and  cauld, 


30  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Its  branchy  shelter's  lost  and  gane,  30 

And  scarce  a  stinted  birk  is  left 
To  shiver  in  the  blast  its  lane.' 

*Alas!'  said  I,  Mvhat  ruefu'  chance 

Has  twined  ye  o'  your  stately  trees? 
Has  laid  your  rocky  bosom  bare,  35 

Has  stripped  the  deeding  o'  your  braes? 
Was  it  the  bitter  eastern  blast, 

That  scatters  blight  in  early  spring? 
Or  was't  the  wir-fire  scorched  their  boughs. 

Or  canker-worm  wi'  secret  sting?'  40 

^  Nae  eastlin  blast,'  the  sprite  replied ; 

*  It  blew  na  here  sae  fierce  and  fell, 
And  on  my  dry  and  halesome  banks 

Nae  canker-worms  get  leave  to  dwell : 
Man !  cruel  man ! '  the  genius  sighed  —  45 

As  through  the  cliffs  he  sank  him  down  — 
^The  worm  that  gnawed  my  bonnie  trees. 

That  reptile  wears  a  ducal  crown.' 


THE  HUMBLE  PETITION  OF  BRUAR  WATER, 

TO  THE  NOBLE  DUKE  OF  ATHOLE. 

My  Lord,  I  know  your  noble  ear 

Woe  ne'er  assails  in  vain ; 
Embolden'd  thus,  I  beg  you'll  hear 

Your  humble  slave  complain. 
How  saucy  Phoebus'  scorching  beams, 

In  flaming  summer-pride, 
Dry-withering,  waste  my  foamy  streams, 

And  drink  my  crystal  tide. 


THE  HUMBLE  PETITION  OF  BRUAR    WATER.    31 

The  lightly-jumping  glowrin  trouts, 

That  thro'  my  waters  play,  lo 

If,  in  their  random,  wanton  spouts, 

They  near  the  margin  stray ; 
If,  hapless  chance  !  they  linger  lang, 

I'm  scorching  up  so  shallow, 
They're  left  the  whitening  stanes  amang,  15 

In  gasping  death  to  wallow. 

Last  day  I  grat  wi'  spite  and  teen, 

As  Poet  Burns  came  by. 
That  to  a  bard  I  should  be  seen 

Wi'  half  my  channel  dry :  20 

A  panegyric  rhyme,  I  ween. 

Even  as  I  was  he  shor'd  me ; 
But  had  I  in  my  glory  been. 

He,  kneeling,  wad  ador'd  me. 

Here,  foaming  down  the  shelvy  rocks,  25 

In  twisting  strength  I  rin; 
There,  high  my  boiling  torrent  smokes. 

Wild-roaring  o'er  a  linn : 
Enjoying  large  each  spring  and  well 

As  Nature  gave  them  me,  30 

I  am,  altho'  I  say't  mysel. 

Worth  gaun  a  mile  to  see. 

Would  then  my  noble  master  please 

To  grant  my  highest  wishes. 
He'll  shade  my  banks  wi'  tow'ring  trees,  35 

And  bonnie  spreading  bushes. 
Delighted  doubly  then,  my  Lord, 

You'll  wander  on  my  banks. 
And  listen  mony  a  grateful  bird 

Return  you  tuneful  thanks.  40 


32  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

The  sober  laverock,  warbling  wild, 

Shall  to  the  skies  aspire ; 
The  gowdspink,  Music's  gayest  child, 

Shall  sweetly  join  the  choir: 
The  blackbird  strong,  the  lintwhite  clear,  45 

The  mavis  mild  and  mellow; 
The  robin  pensive  Autumn  cheer. 

In  all  her  locks  of  yellow. 

This  too,  a  covert  shall  ensure. 

To  shield  them  from  the  storm ;  50 

And  coward  maukin  sleep  secure. 

Low  in  her  grassy  form: 
Here  shall  the  shepherd  make  his  seat 

To  weave  his  crown  of  flow'rs ; 
Or  find  a  sheltering  safe  retreat,  55 

From  prone-descending  showVs. 

Here  haply  too,  at  vernal  dawn, 

Some  musing  bard  may  stray. 
And  eye  the  smoking,  dewy  lawn. 

And  misty  mountain  gray ;  60 

Or,  by  the  reaper's  nightly  beam. 

Mild-chequering  thro'  the  trees. 
Rave  to  my  darkly  dashing  stream. 

Hoarse-swelling  on  the  breeze. 

Let  lofty  firs,  and  ashes  cool,  65 

My  lowly  banks  overspread, 
And  view,  deep-bending  in  the  pool, 

Their  shadows'  wat'ry  bed! 
Let  fragrant  birks  in  woodbines  drest 

My  craggy  cliffs  adorn ;  70 

And,  for  the  little  songster's  nest. 

The  close  embow'ring  thorn. 


THE  BRIGS   OF  A  YR.  33 

So  may  Old  Scotia^s  darling  hope, 

Your  little  angel  band, 
Spring  like  their  fathers,  up  to  prop  75 

Their  honorM  native  land! 
So  may  thro^  Albion's  farthest  ken, 

To  social-flowing  glasses 
The  grace  be  —  ^Athole's  honest  men, 

And  Athole's  bonnie  lasses!'  80 


THE   BRIGS  OF  AYR. 

A   POEM. 

INSCRIBED   TO   JOHN    BALIJ^NITNE,    ESQ.,   AYR. 

The  simple  Bard,  rough  at  the  rustic  plough, 

Learning  his  tuneful  trade  from  ev'ry  bough ; 

The  chanting  linnet,  or  the  mellow  thrush ; 

Hailing  the  setting  sun,  sweet,  in  the  green  thorn  bush ; 

The  soaring  lark,  the  perching  red-breast  shrill,  5 

Or  deep-tonM  plovers  gray,  wild-whistling  o'er  the  hill ; 

Shall  he  —  nurst  in  the  peasant's  lowly  shed, 

To  hardy  independence  bravely  bred. 

By  early  poverty  to  hardship  steePd, 

And  trained  to  arms  in  stern  Misfortune's  field —  10 

Shall  he  be  guilty  of  their  hireling  crimes, 

The  servile,  mercenary  Swiss  of  rhymes? 

Or  labor  hard  the  panegyric  close, 

With  all  the  venal  soul  of  dedicating  prose? 

No!   though  his  artless  strains  he  rudely  sings,  15 

And  throws  his  hand  uncouthly  o'er  the  strings. 

He  glows  with  all  the  spirit  of  the  Bard, 

Fame,  honest  fame,  his  great,  his  dear  reward. 

Still,  if  some  patron's  gen'rous  care  he  trace, 

Skill'd  in  the  secret,  to  bestow  with  grace ;  20 

D 


34  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

When  Ballantyne  befriends  his  humble  name, 
And  hands  the  rustic  stranger  up  to  fame, 
With  heartfelt  throes  his  grateful  bosom  swells, 
The  godlike  bliss,  to  give,  alone  excels. 


Twas  when  the  stacks  get  on  their  winter-hap,  25 

And  thack  and  rape  secure  the  toil-won  crap; 

Potato-bings  are  snugged  up  frae  skaith 

O'  coming  Winter's  biting,  frosty  breath ; 

The  bees,  rejoicing  o'er  their  summer  toils. 

Unnumbered  buds  an'  flowrs  delicious  spoils,  30 

Seal'd  up  with  frugal  care  in  massive  waxen  piles. 

Are  doom'd  by  man,  that  tyrant  o'er  the  weak. 

The  death  o'  devils,  smoor'd  wi'  brimstone  reek : 

The  thund'ring  guns  are  heard  on  ev'ry  side. 

The  wounded  coveys,  reeling,  scatter  wide ;  35 

The  feather'd  field-mates,  bound  by  Nature's  tie. 

Sires,  mothers,  children,  in  one  carnage  lie : 

(What  warm,  poetic  heart,  but  inly  bleeds. 

And  execrates  man's  savage,  ruthless  deeds!) 

Nae  mair  the  flow'r  in  field  or  meadow  springs ;  40 

Nae  mair  the  grove  with  airy  concert  rings, 

Except  perhaps  the  Robin's  whistling  glee. 

Proud  o'  the  height  o'  some  bit  half-lang  tree : 

The  hoary  morns  precede  the  sunny  days, 

Mild,  calm,  serene,  wide  spreads  the  noontide  blaze,    45 

While  thick  the  gossamour  waves  wanton  in  the  rays. 

'Twas  in  that  season,  when  a  simple  Bard, 

Unknown  and  poor  —  simplicity's  reward  — 

Ae  night,  within  the  ancient  brugh  of  Ayr, 

By  whim  inspir'd,  or  haply  prest  wi'  care,  50 

He  left  his  bed  and  took  his  wayward  route. 

And  down  by  Simpson's  wheel'd  the  left  about : 

(Whether  impell'd  by  all-directing  Fate, 


THE  BRIGS   OF  A  YR,  35 

To  witness  what  I  after  shall  narrate; 

Or  whether,  rapt  in  meditation  high,  55 

He  wander^  out  he  knew  not  where  nor  why:) 

The  drowsy  Dungeon-clock  had  numbered  two. 

And  Wallace  Tow'r  had  sworn  the  fact  was  true: 

The  tide-swoln  firth,  wi'  sullen-sounding  roar, 

Through  the  still  night  dashed  hoarse  along  the  shore :       60 

All  else  was  hush'd  as  Nature's  closed  e'e ; 

The  silent  moon  shone  high  o'er  tow'r  and  tree : 

The  chilly  frost,  beneath  the  silver  beam. 

Crept,  gently-crusting,  owre  the  glittering  stream.  — 

When,  lo!  on  either  hand  the  list'ning  Bard,  65 

The  clanging  sugh  of  whistling  wings  is  heard; 

Two  dusky  forms  dart  thro'  the  midnight  air. 

Swift  as  the  gos  drives  on  the  wheeling  hare ; 

Ane  on  th'  Auld  Brig  his  airy  shape  uprears, 

The  ither  flutters  o'er  the  rising  piers :  70 

Our  warlock  Rhymer  instantly  descry'd 

The  Sprites  that  owre  the  Brigs  of  Ayr  preside. 

(That  Bards  are  second-sighted  is  nae  joke, 

And  ken  the  lingo  of  the  sp'ritual  folk ; 

Fays,  spunkies,  kelpies,  a',  they  can  explain  them,  75 

And  ev'n  the  vera  de'ils  they  brawly  ken  them.) 

Auld  Brig  appear'd  o'  ancient  Pictish  race, 

The  vera  wrinkles  Gothic  in  his  face : 

He  seem'd  as  he  wi'  Time  had  warstl'd  lang, 

Yet,  teughly  doure,  he  bade  an  unco  bang.  80 

New  Brig  was  buskit,  in  a  braw  new  coat. 

That  he,  at  Lon'on,  frae  ane  Adams  got ; 

In's  hand  five  taper  staves  as  smooth's  a  bead, 

Wi'  virls  an'  whirlygigums  at  the  head. 

The  Goth  was  stalking  round  with  anxious  search,         85 

Spying  the  time-worn  flaws  in  ev'ry  arch ; 

It  chanc'd  his  new-come  neebor  took  his  e'e. 

And  e'en  a  vex'd  and  angry  heart  had  he! 

Wi'  thieveless  sneer  to  see  his  modish  mien. 

He,  down  the  water,  gies  him  this  guid-e'en:  90 


36  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


AULD   BRIG. 

I  doubt  na,  frien\  ye'll  think  yeVe  nae  sheep-shank, 
Ance  ye  were  streekit  owre  frae  bank  to  bank! 
But  gin  ye  be  a  brig  as  auld  as  me, — 
Tho',  faith!  that  date,  I  doubt,  ye'll  never  see, — 
There'll  be,  if  that  day  come,  I'll  wad  a  boddle,  95 

Some  fewer  whigmeleeries  in  your  noddle. 

NEW   BRIG. 

Auld  Vandal,  ye  but  show  your  little  mense. 

Just  much  about  it  wi'  your  scanty  sense ; 

Will  your  poor,  narrow  foot-path  of  a  street, 

Where  twa  wheel-barrows  tremble  when  they  meet,  100 

Your  ruinM,  formless  bulk  o'  stane  and  lime. 

Compare  wi'  bonnie  Brigs  o'  modern  time? 

There's  men  of  taste  wou'd  tak  the  Ducat-stream, 

Tho'  they  should  cast  the  vera  sark  and  swim. 

Ere  they  would  grate  their  feelings  wi'  the  view  105 

O'  sic  an  ugly,  Gothic  hulk  as  you. 

AULD   BRIG. 

Conceited  gowk!  puff'd  up  wi'  windy  pride! 
This  mony  a  year  Fve  stood  the  flood  an'  tide; 
And  tho'  wi'  crazy  eild  Tm  sair  forfairn, 
ril  be  a  brig,  when  ye're  a  shapeless  cairn!  no 

As  yet  ye  little  ken  about  the  matter. 
But  twa-three  winters  will  inform  ye  better. 
When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  a'-day  rains, 
Wi'  deepening  deluges  overflow  the  plains ; 
When  from  the  hills  where  springs  the  brawling  Coil,      1 1 5 
Or  stately  Lugars  mossy  fountains  boil. 
Or  where  the  Greenock  winds  his  moorland  course 
Or  haunted  Garpal  draws  his  feeble  source, 
Arous'd  by  blustVing  winds  an'  spotting  thowes, 
In  mony  a  torrent  down  his  snaw-broo  rowes;  120 


THE  BRIGS   OF  A  YR.  37 

While  crashing  ice,  borne  on  the  roaring  spate, 
Sweeps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a'  to  the  gate ; 
And  from  Glenbuck,  down  to  the  Ratton-key, 
Auld  Ayr  is  just  one  lengthened,  tumbling  sea; 
Then  down  ye'll  hurl  (de'il  nor  ye  never  rise!)  125 

And  dash  the  gumlie  jaups  up  to  the  pouring  skies. 
A  lesson  sadly  teaching,  to  your  cost, 
That  Architecture's  noble  art  is  lost! 

NEW   BRIG. 

Fine  architecture,  trowth,  I  needs  must  say't  o't; 
The  Lord  be  thankit  that  weVe  tint  the  gate  o't!  130 

Gaunt,  ghastly,  ghaist-alluring  edifices, 
Hanging  with  threatening  jut,  like  precipices : 
O'er  arching,  mouldy,  gloom-inspiring  coves, 
Supporting  roofs  fantastic,  stony  groves : 
Windows  and  doors  in  nameless  sculptures  drest,  135 

With  order,  symmetry,  or  taste  unblest ; 
Forms  like  some  bedlam  Statuary's  dream, 
The  craz'd  creations  of  misguided  whim ; 
Forms  might  be  worshipped  on  the  bended  knee, 
And  still  the  second  dread  command  be  free,  140 

Their  likeness  is  not  found  on  earth,  in  air,  or  sea. 
Mansions  that  would  disgrace  the  buildmg  taste 
Of  any  mason  reptile,  bird,  or  beast ; 
Fit  only  for  a  doited  monkish  race. 

Or  frosty  maids  forsworn  the  dear  embrace,  145 

Or  cuifs  of  later  times,  wha  held  the  notion, 
That  sullen  gloom  was  sterling,  true  devotion ; 
Fancies  that  our  guid  Brugh  denies  protection. 
And  soon  may  they  expire,  unblest  with  resurrection! 

AULD   BRIG. 

O  ye,  my  dear-remember'd,  ancient  yealings,  150 

Were  ye  but  here  to  share  my  wounded  feelings! 


38  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Ye  worthy  Proveses,  an'  mony  a  Bailie, 
Wha  in  the  paths  o'  righteousness  did  toil  ay; 
Ye  dainty  Deacons,  an'  ye  douce  Conveeners, 
To  whom  our  moderns  are  but  causey-cleaners!  155 

Ye  godly  Councils  wha  hae  blest  this  town; 
Ye  godly  Brethren  o'  the  sacred  gown, 
Wha  meekly  gie  your  hurdies  to  the  smiters; 
And  (what  would  now  be  strange)  ye  godly  Writers : 
A'  ye  douce  folk  IVe  borne  aboon  the  broo,  160 

Were  ye  but  here,  what  would  ye  say  or  do? 
How  would  your  spirits  groan  in  deep  vexation, 
To  see  each  melancholy  alteration; 
And  agonizing,  curse  the  time  and  place 
When  ye  begat  the  base,  degenVate  race!  165 

Nae  langer  rev'rend  Men,  their  country's  glory, 
In  plain  braid  Scots  hold  forth  a  plain  braid  story: 
Nae  langer  thrifty  citizens,  an'  douce. 
Meet  owre  a  pint,  or  in  the  Council-house; 
But  staumrel,  corky-headed,  graceless  gentry,  170 

The  herryment  and  ruin  of  the  country ; 
Men,  three-parts  made  by  tailors  and  by  barbers, 
Wha  waste  your   weel-hain'd  gear  on   damn'd  new  brigs 
and  harbors! 

NEW  BRIG. 

Now  haud  you  there!  for  faith  ye've  said  enough. 

And  muckle  mair  than  ye  can  mak  to  through;  175 

As  for  your  priesthood,  I  shall  say  but  little. 

Corbies  and  Clergy  are  a  shot  right  kittle : 

But,  under  favor  o'  your  langer  beard, 

Abuse  o'  magistrates  might  weel  be  spar'd: 

To  liken  them  to  your  auld-warld  squad,  180 

I  must  needs  say,  comparisons  are  odd. 

In  Ayr,  wag-wits  nae  mair  can  have  a  handle 

To  mouth  *  a  citizen,'  a  term  o'  scandal : 

Nae  mair  the  council  waddles  down  the  street, 


THE  BRIGS   OF  A  YR,  39 

In  all  the  pomp  of  ignorant  conceit;  185 

Men  wha  grew  wise  priggin  owre  hops  an'  raisins, 

Or  gathered  liberal  views  in  bonds  and  seisins. 

If  haply  Knowledge,  on  a  random  tramp, 

Had  shorM  them  wi'  a  glimmer  of  his  lamp. 

And  would  to  Common-sense  for  once  betrayed  them,      190 

Plain,  dull  Stupidity  stept  kindly  in  to  aid  them. 

What  farther  clishmaclaver  might  been  said, 
What  bloody  wars,  if  sprites  had  blood  to  shed, 
No  man  can  tell ;  but  all  before  their  sight 
A  fairy  train  appeared  in  order  bright :  195 

Adown  the  glittering  stream  they  featly  danc'd ; 
Bright  to  the  moon  their  various  dresses  glancM : 
They  footed  o'er  the  wat'ry  glass  so  neat, 
The  infant  ice  scarce  bent  beneath  their  feet : 
While  arts  of  minstrelsy  among  them  rung,  200 

And  soul-ennobling  bards  heroic  ditties  sung. 
O  had  M'Lauchlan,  thairm-inspiring  sage, 
Been  there  to  hear  this  heavenly  band  engage. 
When  thro'  his  dear  strathspeys   they  bore  with   Highland 

rage. 
Or  when  they  struck  old  Scotia's  melting  airs,  205 

The  lover's  raptur'd  joys  or  bleeding  cares : 
How  would  his  Highland  lug  been  nobler  fir'd. 
And  ev'n  his  matchless  hand  with  finer  touch  inspir'd! 
No  guess  could  tell  what  instrument  appear'd, 
But  all  the  soul  of  Music's  self  was  heard;  210 

Harmonious  concert  rung  in  every  part. 
While  simple  melody  pour'd  moving  on  the  heart. 

The  Genius  of  the  Stream  in  front  appears, 
A  venerable  chief,  advanc'd  in  years ; 

His  hoary  head  with  water-lilies  crown'd,  215 

His  manly  leg  with  garter  tangle  bound. 
Next  came  the  loveliest'  pair  in  all  the  ring, 
Sweet  Female  Beauty  hand  in  hand  with  Spring; 


40  SELECTIONS  FROM  BUA'NS. 

Then,  crown'd  with  flowVy  hay,  came  Rural  Joy, 

And  Summer,  with  his  fervid-beaming  eye :  220 

All-cheering  Plenty,  with  her  flowing  horn. 

Led  yellow  Autumn  wreath'd  with  nodding  corn ; 

Then  Winter^s  time-bleachM  locks  did  hoary  show, 

By  Hospitality  with  cloudless  brow ; 

Next  followed  Courage  with  his  martial  stride,  225 

From  where  the  Feal  wild-woody  coverts  hide ; 

Benevolence,  with  mild,  benignant  air, 

A  female  form,  came  from  the  towVs  of  Stair: 

Learning  and  Worth  in  equal  measures  trode 

From  simple  Catrine,  their  long-lov'd  abode :  230 

Last,  white-rob'd  Peace,  crown'd  with  a  hazel  wreath, 

To  rustic  Agriculture  did  bequeath 

The  broken,  iron  instruments  of  death : 

At  sight  of  whom  our  sprites  forgat  their  kindling  wrath. 


TAM   O^  SHANTER. 

A   TALE. 

Of  Brownyis  and  of  Bogilis  full  is  this  Buke. 

Gawin  Douglas. 

When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street, 

And  drouthy  neebors,  neebors  meet. 

As  market-days  are  wearing  late. 

An'  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate; 

While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy,  5 

An'  getting  fou  and  unco  happy,  • 

We  thinkna  on  the  lang  Scots  miles, 

The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,  and  styles, 

That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame, 

Whare  sits  our  sulky,  sullen  dame,  10 


TAM  O'  SHANTER,  41 

Gathering  her  brows  like  gathering  storm, 

Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This  truth  fand  honest  Tam  o'  Shanter, 

As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  night  did  canter, 

(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  surpasses,  15 

For  honest  men  and  bonnie  lasses). 

O  Tam!   hadst  thou  but  been  sae  wise, 
As  ta'en  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice! 
She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  wast  a  skellum, 
A  blethering,  blustering,  drunken  blellum!  20 

That  frae  November  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  was  na  sober ; 
That  ilka  melder,  wi'  the  miller. 
Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  had  siller; 
That  ev'ry  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on,  25 

The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fou  on : 
That  at  the  Lord's  house,  ev'n  on  Sunday, 
Thou  drank  wi'  Kirkton  Jean  till  Monday. 
She  prophesy'd  that,  late  or  soon. 
Thou  would  be  found  deep  drown'd  in  Dcon ;  30 

Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks  in  the  mirk, 
By  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

Ah,  gentle  dames!   it  gars  me  greet. 
To  think  how  mony  counsels  sweet. 
How  mony  lengthened,  sage  advices,  35 

The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises! 

But  to  our  tale :    Ae  market  night, 
Tam  had  got  planted  unco  right; 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezing  finely, 

Wi'  reaming  swats,  that  drank  divinely ;  40 

And  at  his  elbow,  Souter  Johnny, 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony ; 
Tam  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  brither; 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither. 
The  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs  and  clatter;  45 

And  aye  the  ale  was  growing  better: 


42  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

The  landlady  and  Tarn  grew  gracious, 

Wi'  favors,  secret,  sweet,  and  precious : 

The  souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories ; 

The  landiord^s  laugh  was  ready  chorus :  50 

The  storm  without  might  rair  and  rustle, 

Tarn  did  na  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 

Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy, 
E^en  drown'd  himsel  amang  the  nappy : 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure,  55 

The  minutes  wingM  their  way  wi^  pleasure ; 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  Tam  was  glorious, 
O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious! 

But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread, 
You  seize  the  flowr,  its  bloom  is  shed ;  60 

Or  like  the  snow-falls  in  the  river, 
A  moment  white  —  then  melts  for  ever; 
Or  like  the  borealis  race. 
That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place; 
Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form  65 

Evanishing  amid  the  storm. — 
Nae  man  can  tether  time  or  tide ;  — 
The  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride ; 
That  hour,  o'  night's  black  arch  the  key-stane, 
That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  in ;  70 

And  sic  a  night  he  taks  the  road  in. 
As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 

The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its  last ; 
The  rattling  show'rs  rose  on  the  blast; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallow'd;  75 

Loud,  deep,  and  lang,  the  thunder  bellow'd: 
That  night,  a  child  might  understand, 
The  de'il  had  business  on  his  hand. 

Weel  mounted  on  his  gray  mare,  Meg, 
A  better  never  lifted  leg,  80 

Tam  skelpit  on  thro'  dub  and  mire. 
Despising  wind,  and  rain,  and  fire; 


TAM   O'  SHANTER.  43 

Whiles  holding  fast  his  gude  blue  bonnet; 

Whiles  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Scots  sonnet 

Whiles  glowVing  round  wi^  prudent  cares,  85 

Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares ; 

Kirk-Alloway  was  drawing  nigh, 

Whare  ghaists  and  houlets  nightly  cry. — 

By  this  time  he  was  cross  the  ford, 
Whare  in  the  snaw,  the  chapman  smoor'd ;  90 

And  past  the  birks  and  meikle  stane, 
Whare  drunken  Charlie  brakes  neck-bane : 
And  thro'  the  whins,  and  by  the  cairn, 
Whare  hunters  fand  the  murdered  bairn ; 
And  near  the  thorn,  aboon  the  well,  95 

Whare  Mungo's  mither  hang'd  hersel.  — 
Before  him  Doon  pours  all  his  floods ; 
The  doubling  storm  roars  thro'  the  woods ; 
The  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole ; 
Near  and  more  near  the  thunders  roll:  100 

When,  glimmering  thro'  the  groaning  trees, 
Kirk-Alloway  seem'd  in  a  bleeze ; 
Thro'  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glancing; 
And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  dancing.  — 

Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn!  105 

What  dangers  thou  canst  make  us  scorn! 
Wi'  tippenny,  we  fear  nae  evil ; 
Wi'  usquebae,  we'll  face  the  devil!  — 
The  swats  sae  ream'd  in  Tammie's  noddle. 
Fair  play,  he  car'd  na  de'ils  a  boddle.  no 

But  Maggie  stood  right  sair  astonish'd, 
Till,  by  the  heel  and  hand  admonish'd. 
She  ventur'd  forward  on  the  light; 
And,  wow!  Tam  saw  an  unco  sight! 
Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance ;  115 

Nae  cotillon  brent  new  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and  reels, 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels. 


44  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

A  winnock-bunker  in  the  east, 

There  sat  auld  Nick,  in  shape  o'  beast;  120 

A  towzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large. 

To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge : 

He  screwed  the  pipes  and  gart  them  skirl, 

Till  roof  and  rafters  a^  did  dirl.  — 

Coffins  stood  round  like  open  presses,  125 

That  shaw'd  the  dead  in  their  last  dresses ; 

And  by  some  devilish  cantrip  slight 

Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light, — 

By  which  heroic  Tarn  was  able 

To  note  upon  the  haly  table,  130 

A  murderer's  banes  in  gibbet-airns ; 

Twa  span-lang,  wee,  unchristen'd  bairns; 

A  thief,  new-cutted  frae  the  rape, 

Wi'  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape ; 

Five  tomahawks,  wi'  blude  red  rusted ;  135 

Five  scymitars,  wi'  murder  crusted ; 

A  garter,  which  a  babe  had  strangled ; 

A  knife,  a  father's  throat  had  mangled, 

Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft. 

The  gray  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft ;  140 

Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  and  awfu'. 

Which  ev'n  to  name  wad  be  unlawfu'. 

As  Tammie  glowrM,  amaz'd,  and  curious, 
The  mirth  and  fun  grew  fast  and  furious : 
The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew;  145 

The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew ; 
They  reelM,  they  set,  they  crossed,  they  cleekit. 
Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit. 
And  coost  her  duddies  to  the  wark. 
And  linket  at  it  in  her  sark!  150 

Now  Tam,  O  Tarn!   had  thae  been  queans, 
A'  plump  and  strapping  in  their  teens; 
Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creeshie  flannen. 
Been  snaw-white  seventeen  hunder  linen! 


TAM   O'  SHANTER.  4S 

Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair,  155 

That  ance  were  plush,  o'  gude  blue  hair, 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  them  off  my  hurdies, 
For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonnie  burdies! 

But  withered  beldams,  auld  and  droll, 
Rigwooddie  hags  wad  spean  a  foal,  160 

Lowping  and  flinging  on  a  crummock, 
I  wonder  didna  turn  thy  stomach. 

But  Tam  kenned  what  was  what  fu'  brawlie. 
There  was  ae  winsome  wench  and  walie, 
That  night  enlisted  in  the  core,  165 

(Lang  after  kenn'd  on  Carrick  shore ; 
For  mony  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot. 
And  perish'd  mony  a  bonnie  boat, 
And  shook  baith  meikle  corn  and  bear, 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fear)  170 

Her  cutty  sark,  o^  Paisley  ham. 
That  while  a  lassie  she  had  worn, 
In  longitude  tho'  sorely  scanty. 
It  was  her  best,  and  she  was  vauntie.  — 
Ah!   little  kennM  thy  reverend  grannie,  175 

That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nannie, 
Wi'  twa  pund  Scots  ('twas  a'  her  riches). 
Wad  ever  grac'd  a  dance  of  witches  ! 

But  here  my  muse  her  wing  maun  cour; 
Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  her  powr;  180 

To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  and  flang, 
(A  souple  jade  she  was,  and  Strang), 
And  how  Tam  stood  like  ane  bewitch'd. 
And  thought  his  very  een  enriched ; 
Even  Satan  glowr^d,  and  fidg'd  fu'  fain,  185 

And  hotch'd  and  blew  wi'  might  and  main  : 
Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither, 
Tam  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither, 
And  roars  out,  ^Weel  done,  Cutty-sark!' 
And  in  an  instant  all  was  dark:  190 


46  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

And  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied, 
When  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke, 
When  plundering  herds  assail  their  byke ; 
As  open  pussie's  mortal  foes,  195 

When,  pop!   she  starts  before  their  nose; 
As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd, 
When,  'Catch  the  thief!'  resounds  aloud; 
So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 
Wi'  mony  an  eldritch  skreech  and  hollow.  200 

Ah,  Tarn!  ah.  Tarn!  thouUl  get  thy  fairin! 
In  hell  they'll  roast  thee  like  a  herrin! 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin! 
Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  woman! 
Now,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg,  205 

And  win  the  key-stane  of  the  brig : 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  may  toss, 
A  running  stream  they  darena  cross. 
But  ere  the  key-stane  she  could  make, 
The  lient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake!  210 

For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest. 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest. 
And  flew  at  Tam  wi'  furious  ettle; 
But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  mettle  — 
Ae  spring  brought  off  her  master  hale,  215 

But  left  behind  her  ain  gray  tail : 
The  carlin  claught  her  by  the  rump. 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 

Now,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read. 
Ilk  man  and  mother's  son,  tak  heed ;  220 

Whene'er  to  drink  you  are  inclin'd. 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  in  your  mind, 
Think,  ye  may  buy  the  joys  o'er  dear, 
Remember  Tam  o'  Shanter*s  mare. 


TO  JAMES  SMITH.  47 


TO  JAMES   SMITH. 

Friendship!  mysterious  cement  of  the  soul! 
Sweet'ner  of  Life,  and  solder  of  Society! 

I  owe  thee  much. 

Blair, 

Dear  Smith,  the  sleekest,  paukie  thief, 
That  e'er  attempted  stealth  or  rief. 
Ye  surely  hae  some  warlock-breef 

Owre  human  hearts. 
For  ne'er  a  bosom  yet  was  prief  5 

Against  your  arts. 

For  me,  I  swear  by  sun  an'  moon, 
And  ev'ry  star  that  blinks  aboon, 
Ye've  cost  me  twenty  pair  o'  shoon 

Just  gaun  to  see  you ;  10 

And  ev'ry  ither  pair  that's  done, 

Mair  taen  I'm  wi  you. 

«  41  ♦  9|(  «  * 

The  star  that  rules  my  luckless  lot. 

Has  fated  me  the  russet  coat, 

An'  damn'd  my  fortune  to  the  groat;  15 

But  in  requit, 
Has  blest  me  with  a  random  shot 

O'  countra  wit. 

This  while  my  notion's  taen  a  sklent, 

To  try  my  fate  in  guid  black  prent;  20 

But  still  the  mair  I'm  that  way  bent, 

Something  cries,  *Hoolie! 
I  red  you,  honest  man,  tak  tent! 

Ye'll  shaw  your  folly. 

*  There's  ither  poets,  much  your  betters,  25 

Far  seen  in  Greek,  deep  men  o'  letters, 
Hae  thought  they  had  ensured  their  debtors, 


48  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

PC  future  ages ; 
Now  moths  deform  in  shapeless  tatters, 

Their  unknown  pages.'  30 

Then  fareweel  hopes  o^  laurel-boughs, 
To  garland  my  poetic  brows! 
Henceforth  Til  rove  where  busy  ploughs 

Are  whistling  thrang, 
An'  teach  the  lanely  heights  an'  howes  35 

My  rustic  sang. 

ril  wander  on,  wi'  tentless  heed 
How  never-halting  moments  speed, 
Till  fate  shall  snap  the  brittle  thread; 

Then,  all  unknown,  40 

ril  lay  me  with  th'  inglorious  dead, 

Forgot  and  gone! 

But  why  o'  Death  begin  a  tale? 

Just  now  we're  living  sound  an'  hale; 

Then  top  and  maintop  crowd  the  sail,        ^  45 

Heave  Care  o'er  side! 
And  large,  before  Enjoyment's  gale. 

Let's  tak  the  tide. 

This  life,  sae  far's  I  understand, 

Is  a'  enchanted  fairy-land,  50 

Where  pleasure  is  the  magic  wand. 

That,  wielded  right, 
Makes  hours  like  minutes,  hand  in  hand, 

Dance  by  fii'  light. 

The  magic-wand  then  let  us  wield;  55 

For,  ance  that  five-an'-forty's  speel'd, 
See,  crazy,  weary,  joyless  Eild, 

Wi'  wrinkl'd  face, 
Comes  hostin,  hirplin  owre  the  field, 

Wi'  creepin  pace.  60 


TO  JAMES  SMITH.  49 

When  ance  lifers  day  draws  near  the  gloamin, 
Then  fareweel  vacant  careless  roamin ; 
An'  fareweel  cheerfu'  tankards  foamin, 

An'  social  noise ; 
An'  fareweel  dear  deluding  woman,  65 

The  joy  of  joys! 

O  life!  how  pleasant  in  thy  morning, 
Young  Fancy's  rays  the  hills  adorning! 
Cold-pausing  Caution's  lesson  scorning, 

We  frisk  away,  70 

Like  school-boys,  at  th'  expected  warning, 

To  joy  and  play. 

We  wander  there,  we  wander  here, 

We  eye  the  rose  upon  the  brier. 

Unmindful  that  the  thorn  is  near,  75 

Among  the  leaves : 
And  tho'  the  puny  wound  appear. 

Short  while  it  grieves. 

Some,  lucky,  find  a  flow'ry  spot. 

For  which  they  never  toil'd  nor  swat ;  80 

They  drink  the  sweet  and  eat  the  fat. 

But  care  or  pain; 
And,  haply,  eye  the  barren  hut 

With  high  disdain. 

With  steady  aim,  some  Fortune  chase ;  85 

Keen  Hope  does  ev'ry  sinew  brace ; 
Thro'  fair,  thro'  foul,  they  urge  the  race. 

And  seize  the  prey; 
Then  cannie,  in  some  cozie  place. 

They  close  the  day.  90 

And  others,  like  your  humble  servan'. 
Poor  wights!  nae  rules  nor  roads  observin; 

E 


50  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

To  right  or  left,  eternal  swervin, 

They  zig-zag  on ; 
Till  curst  with  age,  obscure  an'  starvin,  95 

They  aften  groan. 

Alas!   what  bitter  toil  an'  straining  — 
But  truce  wi'  peevish,  poor  complaining! 
Is  Fortune's  fickle  Luna  waning? 

E'en  let  her  gang!  100 

Beneath  what  light  she  has  remaining, 

Let's  sing  our  sang. 

My  pen  I  here  fling  to  the  door, 

And  kneel,  'Ye  Pow'rs!'  and  warm  implore, 

*Tho'  I  should  wander  Terra  o'er,  105 

In  all  her  climes. 
Grant  me  but  this,  I  ask  no  more, 

Ay  rowth  o'  rhymes. 

*Gie  dreeping  roasts  to  countra  lairds. 

Till  icicles  hing  frae  their  beards;  1 10 

Gie  fine  braw  claes  to  fine  life-guards. 

And  maids  of  honor; 
And  yill  an'  whisky  gie  to  cairds. 

Until  they  sconner. 

*A  title,  Dempster  merits  it;  115 

A  garter  gie  to  Willie  Pitt; 

Gie  wealth  to  some  be-ledger'd  cit, 

In  cent  per  cent ; 
But  gie  me  real,  sterling  wit. 

And  I'm  content.  120 

*  While  ye  are  pleased  to  keep  me  hale, 
I'll  sit  down  o'er  my  scanty  meal, 
Be't  water-brose,  or  muslin-kail, 
Wi'  cheerfu'  face, 


TO  JAMES  SMITH.  51 


As  lang's  the  Muses  dinna  fail  125 

To  say  the  grace.' 

An  anxious  e'e  I  never  throws 
Behint  my  lug,  or  by  my  nose ; 
I  jouk  beneath  Misfortune's  blows 

As,  weePs  I  may;  130 

Sworn  foe  to  Sorrow,  Care,  and  Prose 

I  rhyme  away. 

0  ye  douce  folk,  that  live  by  rule. 
Grave,  tideless-blooded,  calm,  and  cool, 
Compared  wi'  you  —  O  fool!   fool!    fool!  135 

How  much  unlike! 
Your  hearts  are  just  a  standing  pool, 
Your  lives,  a  dyke! 

Nae  hair-brain'd  sentimental  traces, 

In  your  unletter'd,  nameless  faces!  140 

In  arioso  trills  and  graces 

Ye  never  stray. 
But  gravissimo,  solemn  basses 

Ye  hum  away. 

Ye  are  sae  grave,  nae  doubt  yeVe  wise,  145 

Nae  ferly  tho'  ye  do  despise 
The  hairum-scairum,  ram-stam  boys. 
The  rattling  squad  : 

1  see  you  upward  cast  your  eyes  — 

Ye  ken  the  road. —  150 

Whilst  I  —  but  I  shall  hand  me  there  — 
Wi'  you  ril  scarce  gang  ony  where  — 
Then,  Jamie,  I  shall  say  nae  mair. 

But  quat  my  sang, 
Content  with  you  to  mak  a  pair,  155 

Where'er  I  gang. 


52  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


EPISTLE   TO   DAVIE,   A   BROTHER   POET. 

January,  1784. 
While  winds  frae  aff  Ben-Lomond  blaw, 
And  bar  the  doors  wi'  driving  snaw, 

And  hing  us  owre  the  ingle, 
I  set  me  down,  to  pass  the  time, 
And  spin  a  verse  or  twa  o'  rhyme,  5 

In  hamely,  westlin  jingle. 
While  frosty  winds  blaw  in  the  drift, 

Ben  to  the  chimla  lug, 
I  grudge  a  wee  the  great-folk's  gift, 
That  live  sae  bien  an'  snug:  10 

I  tent  less,  and  want  less 

Their  roomy  fire-side ; 
But  hanker  and  canker. 
To  see  their  cursed  pride. 

It's  hardly  in  a  body's  pow'r,  15 

To  keep,  at  times,  frae  being  sour. 

To  see  how  things  are  shar'd ; 
How  best  o'  chiels  are  whyles  in  want. 
While  coofs  on  countless  thousands  rant, 

And  ken  na  how  to  wair't :  20 

But,  Davie,  lad,  ne'er  fash  your  head, 

Tho'  we  hae  little  gear. 
We're  fit  to  win  our  daily  bread. 
As  lang's  we're  hale  and  fier: 

*Mair  spier  na,  nor  fear  na,'  25 

Auld  age  ne'er  mind  a  feg; 
The  last  o't,  the  warst  o't. 
Is  only  but  to  beg. 

To  lie  in  kilns  and  barns  at  e^en, 
When  banes  are  craz'd,  and  bluid  is  thin,  30 

Is,  doubtless,  great  distress ! 


EPISTLE    TO  DAVIE,  53 

Yet  then  content  could  mak  us  blest ; 
Ev'n  then,  sometimes,  we'd  snatch  a  taste 

Of  truest  happiness. 
The  honest  heart  that's  free  frae  a'  35 

Intended  fraud  or  guile, 
However  fortune  kick  the  ba'. 
Has  aye  some  cause  to  smile : 
And  mind  still,  you'll  find  still, 

A  comfort  this  nae  sma' ;  40 

Nae  mair  then,  we'll  care  then, 
Nae  farther  can  we  fa'. 

What  tho',  like  commoners  of  air. 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where, 

But  either  house  or  hal'?  45 

Yet  nature's  charms,  the  hills  and  woods, 
The  sweeping  vales,  and  foaming  floods. 

Are  free  alike  to  all. 
In  days  when  daisies  deck  the  ground. 

And  blackbirds  whistle  clear,  50 

With  honest  joy  our  hearts  will  bound, 
To  see  the  coming  year: 

On  braes  when  we  please,  then, 

We'll  sit  and  sowth  a  tune ; 
Syne  rhyme  till't,  we'll  time  till't,  55 

And  sing't  when  we  hae  done. 

It's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank ; 

It's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  bank. 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest ; 
It's  no  in  making  muckle,  mair:  60 

It's  no  in  books,  it's  no  in  lear, 

To  make  us  truly  blest : 
If  happiness  hae  not  her  seat 

And  centre  in  the  breast. 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great,  65 


54  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

But  never  can  be  blest: 
Nae  treasures,  nor  pleasures, 

Could  make  us  happy  lang; 
The  heart  ay's  the  part  ay, 

That  makes  us  right  or  wrang.  70 

Think  ye,  that  sic  as  you  and  I, 

Wha  drudge  and  drive  thro'  wet  an'  dry, 

Wi'  never-ceasing  toil ; 
Think  ye,  are  we  less  blest  than  they, 
Wha  scarcely  tent  us  in  their  way,  75 

As  hardly  worth  their  while? 

Alas!  how  aft  in  haughty  mood, 

God's  creatures  they  oppress! 

Or  else,  neglecting  a'  that's  guid, 

They  riot  in  excess!  80 

Baith  careless,  and  fearless. 
Of  either  heav'n  or  hell! 
Esteeming,  and  deeming 
It's  a'  an  idle  tale! 

Then  let  us  cheerfu'  acquiesce;  85 

Nor  make  our  scanty  pleasures  less, 

By  pining  at  our  state ; 
And,  even  should  misfortunes  come, 
I,  here  wha  sit,  hae  met  wi'  some, 

An's  thankfu'  for  them  yet.  90 

They  gie  the  wit  of  age  to  youth ; 

They  let  us  ken  oursel ; 
They  mak  us  see  the  naked  truth, 
The  real  guid  and  ill. 

Tho'  losses,  and  crosses,  95 

Be  lessons  right  severe. 
There's  wit  there,  ye'll  get  there, 
Ye'll  find  nae  other  where. 


EPISTLE    TO  DAVIE.  55 

All  hail,  ye  tender  feelings  dear! 

The  smile  of  love,  the  friendly  tear,  loo 

The  sympathetic  glow! 
Long  since,  this  w6rld's  thorny  ways 
Had  numbered  out  my  weary  days, 

Had  it  not  been  for  you! 
Fate  still  has  blest  me  with  a  friend,  105 

In  every  care  and  ill ; 
And  oft  a  more  endearing  band, 
A  tie  more  tender  still. 
It  lightens,  it  brightens 

The  tenebrific  scene,  no 

To  meet  with,  and  greet  with 
My  Davie  or  my  Jean. 

O,  how  that  name  inspires  my  style! 
The  words  come  skelpin,  rank  and  file, 

Amaist  before  I  ken!  115 

The  ready  measure  rins  as  fine. 
As  Phoebus  and  the  famous  Nine 

Were  glowrin  owre  my  pen. 
My  spaviet  Pegasus  will  limp, 

Till  ance  he's  fairly  hat;  120 

And  then  he'll  hilch,  and  stilt,  and  limp, 
An  rin^  an  unco  fit: 

But  lest  then  the  beast  then, 
Should  rue  this  hasty  ride, 
ril  light  now,  and  dight  now  125 

His  sweaty,  wizen'd  hide. 


56  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


ADDRESS  TO   THE   UNCO   GUID,   OR  THE 
RIGIDLY   RIGHTEOUS. 

My  son,  these  maxims  make  a  nile, 

And  lump  them  aye  thegither; 
The  Rigid  Righteous  is  a  fool, 

The  Rigid   Wise  anither: 
The  cleanest  corn  that  e'er  was  dight 

May  hae  some  pyles  o'  caff  in ; 
So  ne'er  a  fellow-creature  slight 

For  random  fits  o'  daffin. 

Solomon.  —  Eccles.  vii.  i6. 

O  YE  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel, 

Sae  pious  and  sae  holy, 
YeVe  nought  to  do  but  mark  and  tell 

Your  neebor^s  fauts  and  folly! 
Whase  life  is  like  a  weel-gaun  mill,  5 

Supply'd  wi'  store  o'  water, 
The  heapet  happer's  ebbing  still, 

And  still  the  clap  plays  clatter. 

Hear  me,  ye  venerable  Core, 

As  counsel  for  poor  mortals,  10 

That  frequent  pass  douce  Wisdom's  door, 

For  glaikit  Folly's  portals ; 
I,  for  their  thoughtless,  careless  sakes. 

Would  here  propone  defences, 
Their  donsie  tricks,  their  black  mistakes,  15 

Their  failings  and  mischances. 

Ye  see  your  state  wi'  theirs  compared. 

And  shudder  at  the  niffer, 
But  cast  a  moment's  fair  regard. 

What  maks  the  mighty  differ;  20 

Discount  what  scant  occasion  gave 

That  purity  ye  pride  in. 


ADDRESS   TO    THE    UNCO    GUID.  57 

And  (what's  aft  mair  than  a'  the  lave) 
Your  better  art  o'  hiding. 

Think,  when  your  castigated  pulse  25 

Gies  now  and  then  a  wallop, 
What  raging  must  his  veins  convulse, 

That  still  eternal  gallop : 
Wi'  wind  and  tide  fair  i'  your  tail, 

Right  on  ye  scud  your  sea-way;  30 

But  in  the  teeth  o'  baith  to  sail. 

It  maks  an  unco  leeway. 

Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man, 

Still  gentler  sister  woman; 
Tho'  they  may  gang  a  kennin  wrang,  35 

To  step  aside  is  human : 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark, 

The  moving  Why  they  do  it ; 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark. 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it.  40 

Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us, 
He  knows  each  chord  —  its  various  tone. 

Each  spring  —  its  various  bias  : 
Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute,  45 

We  never  can  adjust  it ; 
What's  dofte  we  partly  may  compute, 

But  know  not  what's  resisted. 


58  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

ANSWER  TO  VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO  THE  POET 

BY  THE  GUIDWIFE  OF  WAUCHOPE   HOUSE. 

March,  1787. 
Guidwife, 

I  MIND  it  weel,  in  early  date, 

When  I  was  beardless,  young  and  blate, 

An'  first  could  thresh  the  barn, 
Or  haud  a  yokin  at  the  pleugh, 
An'  tho'  forfoughten  sair  eneugh,  5 

Yet  unco  proud  to  learn: 
When  first  amang  the  yellow  corn 

A  man  I  reckoned  was, 
And  wi'  the  lave  ilk  merry  morn 

Could  rank  my  rig  and  lass,  10 

Still  shearing,  and  clearing 

The  tither  stook^d  raw, 
Wi'  claivers,  an'  haivers, 
Wearing  the  day  awa: 

Ev'n  then  a  wish,  (I  mind  its  power,)  15 

A  wish  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast ; 
That  I  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake. 
Some  usefu'  plan,  or  beuk  could  make. 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least.  20 

The  rough  bur-thistle,  spreading  wide 

Amang  the  bearded  bear, 
I  turn'd  the  weeder-clips  aside. 
An'  spar'd  the  symbol  dear: 

No  nation,  no  station,  25 

My  envy  e'er  could  raise ; 
A  Scot  still,  but  blot  still, 
I  knew  nae  higher  praise. 


ANSWER   TO  VERSES  ADDRESSED   TO  THE  POET,      59 

But  still  the  elements  o'  sang 

In  formless  jumble,  right  an'  wrang,  30 

Wild  floated  in  my  brain ; 
Till  on  that  har'st  I  said  before, 
My  partner  in  the  merry  core, 

She  roused  the  forming  strain: 
I  see  her  yet,  the  sonsie  quean,  35 

That  lighted  up  my  jingle, 
Her  witching  smile,  her  pauky  een. 
That  gart  my  heart-strings  tingle; 
I  fir^d,  inspired, 

At  evVy  kindling  keek,  40 

But  bashing,  and  dashing, 
I  feared  aye  to  speak. 

Health  to  the  sex,  ilk  guid  chiel  says, 
Wi'  merry  dance  in  winter  days. 

An'  we  to  share  in  common :  45 

The  gust  o'  joy,  the  balm  of  woe. 
The  saul  o'  life,  the  heav'n  below. 

Is  rapture-giving  woman. 
Ye  surly  sumphs,  who  hate  the  name, 

Be  mindfu'  o'  your  mither:  50 

She,  honest  woman,  may  think  shame 
That  ye're  connected  with  her. 
Ye're  wae  men,  ye're  nae  men. 
That  slight  the  lovely  dears ; 
To  shame  ye,  disclaim  ye,  55 

Ilk  honest  birkie  swears. 

For  you,  no  bred  to  barn  or  byre, 
Wha  sweetly  tune  the  Scottish  lyre, 

Thanks  to  you  for  your  line : 
The  marled  plaid  ye  kindly  spare,  60 

By  me  should  gratefully  be  ware ; 

Twad  please  me  to  the  nine. 


60  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

rd  be  more  vauntie  o'  my  hap. 

Douce  hingin'  owre  my  curple, 
Than  ony  ermine  ever  lap,  65 

Or  proud  imperial  purple. 

Fareweel  then,  lang  heal  then, 

An'  plenty  be  your  fa' : 
May  losses  and  crosses 
Ne'er  at  your  hallan  ca\  70 


PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN    BY   MR.   WOODS,    ON   HIS    BENEFIT   NIGHT,   MONDAY, 
APRIL    16,    1787. 

When  by  a  generous  public's  kind  acclaim. 
That  dearest  meed  is  granted  —  honest  fame; 
When  here  your  favor  is  the  actor's  lot, 
Nor  even  the  man  in  private  life  forgot ; 
What  breast  so  dead  to  heav'nly  virtue's  glow,  5 

But  heaves  impassion'd  with  the  grateful  throe? 
Poor  is  the  task  to  please  a  barb'rous  throng. 
It  needs  no  Siddons'  power  in  Southern's  song: 
But  here  an  ancient  nation,  fam'd  afar 

For  genius,  learning  high,  as  great  in  war —  10 

Hail  Caledonia!  name  for  ever  dear! 
Before  whose  sons  I'm  honor'd  to  appear! 
Where  every  science,  every  nobler  art 
That  can  inform  the  mind  or  mend  the  heart. 
Is  known;  as  grateful  nations  oft  have  found,  15 

Far  as  the  rude  barbarian  marks  the  bound. 
Philosophy,  no  idle,  pedant  dream, 

Here  holds  her  search,  by  heaven-taught  Reason's  beam, 
Here  History  paints  with  elegance  and  force. 
The  tide  of  Empire's  fluctuating  course ;  20 


CASTLE   GORDON.  61 

Here  Douglas  forms  wild  Shakespeare  into  plan, 

And  Harley  rouses  all  the  god  in  man. 

When  well-formM  taste,  and  sparkling  wit  unite, 

With  manly  lore,  or  female  beauty  bright 

(Beauty,  where  faultless  symmetry  and  grace,  25 

Can  only  charm  us  in  the  second  place). 

Witness  my  heart,  how  oft  with  panting  fear. 

As  on  this  night,  IVe  met  these  judges  here! 

But  still  the  hope  Experience  taught  to  live, 

Equal  to  judge  —  youVe  candid  to  forgive.  30 

No  hundred-headed  Riot  here  we  meet. 

With  decency  and  law  beneath  his  feet. 

Nor  Insolence  assumes  fair  Freedom^s  name ; 

Like  Caledonians,  you  applaud  or  blame. 

O  Thou,  dread  Power!   whose  empire-giving  hand  35 

Has  oft  been  stretch^  to  shield  the  honored  land. 
Strong  may  she  glow  with  all  her  ancient  fire ; 
May  every  son  be  worthy  of  his  sire ; 
Firm  may  she  rise  with  generous  disdain 
At  Tyranny's,  or  direr  Pleasure's  chain ;  40 

Still  self-dependent  in  her  native  shore. 
Bold  may  she  brave  grim  Danger's  loudest  roar. 
Till  Fate  the  curtain  drop  on  worlds  to  be  no  more. 


CASTLE   GORDON. 

Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains 
Never  bound  by  winter's  chains! 
Glowing  here  on  golden  sands. 
There  commix'd  with  foulest  stains 
From  Tyranny's  empurpled  bands : 
These,  their  richly-gleaming  waves, 
I  leave  to  tyrants  and  their  slaves ; 
Give  me  the  stream  that  sweetly  laves 
The  banks  by  Castle  Gordon. 


62  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Spicy  forests,  ever  gay,  lo 

Shading  from  the  burning  ray 
Hapless  wretches  sold  to  toil, 
Or  the  ruthless  native^s  way. 
Bent  on  slaughter,  blood,  and  spoil: 
Woods  that  ever  verdant  wave,  15 

I  leave  the  tyrant  and  the  slave ; 
Give  me  the  groves  that  lofty  brave 
The  storms,  by  Castle  Gordon. 

Wildly  here  without  control, 

Nature  reigns  and  rules  the  whole;  20 

In  that  sober  pensive  mood, 
Dearest  to  the  feeling  soul. 
She  plants  the  forest,  pours  the  flood ; 
Lifers  poor  day  Til  musing  rave. 
And  find  at  night  a  sheltering  cave,  25 

Where  waters  flow  and  wild  woods  wave, 
By  bonnie  Castle  Gordon. 


ADDRESS  TO   EDINBURGH. 

Edina!  Scotia's  darling  seat! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  towVs, 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sovereign  pow'rs! 
From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  flow'rs,  5 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd. 
And  singing,  lone,  the  lingering  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  honored  shade. 

tiere  Wealth  still  swells  the  golden  tide, 

As  busy  Trade  his  labors  plies;  10 

There  Architecture's  noble  pride 
Bids  elegance  and  splendor  rise ; 


ADDRESS    TO  EDINBURGH,  63 

Here  Justice,  from  her  native  skies, 
High  wields  her  balance  and  her  rod; 

There  Learning,  with  his  eagle  eyes,  15 

Seeks  Science  in  her  coy  abode. 

Thy  sons,  Edina,  social,  kind, 

With  open  arms  the  stranger  hail ; 
Their  views  enlarged,  their  libVal  mind. 

Above  the  narrow,  rural  vale ;  20 

Attentive  still  to  Sorrow's  wail, 

Or  modest  Merit's  silent  claim : 
And  never  may  their  sources  fail! 

And  never  Envy  blot  their  name! 

Thy  daughters  bright  thy  walks  adorn,  25 

Gay  as  the  gilded  summer  sky, 
Sweet  as  the  dewy  milk-white  thorn, 

Dear  as  the  raptur'd  thrill  of  joy! 
Fair  Burnet  strikes  th'  adoring  eye, 

Heaven's  beauties  on  my  fancy  shine ;  30 

I  see  the  Sire  of  Love  on  high. 

And  own  his  work  indeed  divine! 

There  watching  high  the  least  alarms. 

Thy  rough,  rude  fortress  gleams  afar; 
Like  some  bold  vet'ran,  gray  in  arms,  35 

And  mark'd  with  many  a  seamy  scar: 
The  ponderous  wall  and  massy  bar. 

Grim-rising  o'er  the  rugged  rock, 
Have  oft  withstood  assailing  war. 

And  oft  repell'd  th'  invader's  shock.  40 

With  awe-struck  thought,  and  pitying  tears, 

I  view  that  noble,  stately  dome. 
Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years, 

Fam'd  heroes,  had  their  royal  home : 


SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 


Alas,  how  changed  the  times  to  come!  45 

Their  royal  name  low  in  the  dust! 
Their  hapless  race  wild-wandVing  roam! 

Tho^  rigid  Law  cries  out,  '  Hwas  just ! ' 

Wild  beats  my  heart,  to  trace  your  steps, 

Whose  ancestors,  in  days  of  yore,  50 

Thro^  hostile  ranks  and  ruinM  gaps 

Old  Scotia^s  bloody  lion  bore : 
Ev'n  1  who  sing  in  rustic  lore, 

Haply  my  sires  have  left  their  shed, 
And  fac'd  grim  Danger's  loudest  roar,  55 

Bold-following  where  your  fathers  led! 

Edina!   Scotia's  darling  seat! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  tow'rs. 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sov'reign  pow'rs!  60 

From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  flow'rs, 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd, 
And  singing,  lone,  the  ling'ring  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  honor'd  shade. 


LAMENT  OF   MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS,  ON  THE 
APPROACH   OF   SPRING. 

Now  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green 

On  every  blooming  tree. 
And  spreads  her  sheets  o'  daisies  white 

Out  o'er  the  grassy  lea : 
Now  Phoebus  cheers  the  crystal  streams,  5 

And  glads  the  azure  skies ; 
But  nought  can  glad  the  weary  wight 

That  fast  in  durance  lies. 


LAMENT  OF  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS.  65 

Now  laverocks  wake  the  merry  morn, 

Aloft  on  dewy  wing;  lo 

The  merle,  in  his  noontide  bow'r. 

Makes  woodland  echoes  ring; 
The  mavis  mild  wi'  many  a  note, 

Sings  drowsy  day  to  rest : 
In  love  and  freedom  they  rejoice,  15 

Wi^  care  nor  thrall  opprest. 

Now  blooms  the  lily  by  the  bank, 

The  primrose  down  the  brae ; 
The  hawthorn's  budding  in  the  glen. 

And  milk-white  is  the  slae :  20 

The  meanest  hind  in  fair  Scotland 

May  rove  their  sweets  amang ; 
But  I  the  Queen  of  a'  Scotland, 

Maun  lie  in  prison  Strang. 

I  was  the  Queen  o'  bonnie  France,  25 

Where  happy  I  hae  been, 
Fu'  lightly  rase  I  in  the  morn, 

As  blythe  lay  down  at  e'en : 
And  Pm  the  sovereign  of  Scotland, 

And  mony  a  traitor  there ;  30 

Yet  here  I  lie  in  foreign  bands, 

And  never-ending  care. 

But  as  for  thee,  thou  false  woman. 

My  sister  and  my  fae, 
Grim  Vengeance,  yet,  shall  whet  a  sword  35 

That  thro'  thy  soul  shall  gae : 
The  weeping  blood  in  woman's  breast 

Was  never  known  to  thee ; 
Nor  th'  balm  that  draps  on  wounds  of  woe 

Frae  woman's  pitying  ee.  40 

F 


66  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

My  son!   my  son!   may  kinder  stars 

Upon  thy  fortune  shine ; 
And  may  those  pleasures  gild  thy  reign, 

That  ne'er  wad  blink  on  mine! 
God  keep  thee  frae  thy  mother's  faes,  45 

Or  turn  their  hearts  to  thee: 
And  where  thou  meet'st  thy  mother's  friend, 

Remember  him  for  me! 

Oh!  soon,  to  me,  may  summer-suns 

Nae  mair  light  up  the  morn!  50 

Nae  mair,  to  me,  the  autumn  winds 

Wave  o'er  the  yellow  corn! 
And  in  the  narrow  house  o'  death 

Let  winter  round  me  rave ; 
And  the  next  flow'rs  that  deck  the  spring,  55 

Bloom  on  my  peaceful  grave! 


ODE   FOR  GENERAL  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY 

No  Spartan  tube,  no  Attic  shell. 

No  lyre  i^olian  I  awake : 
'Tis  liberty's  bold  note  I  swell, 

Thy  harp,  Columbia,  let  me  take! 
See  gathering  thousands,  while  I  sing,  5 

A  broken  chain  exulting  bring. 

And  dash  it  in  a  tyrant's  face. 
And  dare  him  to  his  very  beard. 
And  tell  him  he  no  more  is  feared  — 

No  more  the  despot  of  Columbia's  race!  10 

A  tyrant's  proudest  insults  braved, 
They  shout  —  a  People  freed!     They  hail  an  Empire  saved. 

Where  is  man's  godlike  form? 
Where  is  that  brow  erect  and  bold  — 


ODE  FOR    WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY.  67 

That  eye  that  can  unmovM  behold  15 

The  wildest  rage,  the  loudest  storm 
That  e'er  created  fury  dared  to  raise? 
Avaunt!    thou  caitiff,  servile,  base. 
That  tremblest  at  a  despot's  nod. 
Yet,  crouching  under  the  iron  rod,  20 

Canst  laud  the  hand  that  struck  th'  insulting  blow! 
Art  thou  of  man's  Imperial  line? 
Dost  boast  that  countenance  divine? 

Each  skulking  feature  answers,  No! 
But  come,  ye  sons  of  Liberty,  25 

Columbia's  offspring,  brave  as  free, 
In  danger's  hour  still  flaming  in  the  van, 
Ye  know,  and  dare  maintain,  the  Royalty  of  Man! 

Alfred!   on  thy  starry  throne. 

Surrounded  by  the  tuneful  choir,  30 

The  bards  that  erst  have  struck  the  patriot  lyre. 

And  roused  the  freeborn  Briton's  soul  of  fire. 
No  more  thy  England  own! 
Dare  injured  nations  form  the  great  design, 

To  make  detested  tyrants  bleed?  35 

Thy  England  execrates  the  glorious  deed! 

Beneath  her  hostile  banners  waving. 

Every  pang  of  honor  braving, 
England  in  thunder  calls,  '  The  tyrant's  cause  is  mine ! ' 
That  hour  accurst  how  did  the  fiends  rejoice  40 

And  hell,  through  all  her  confines,  raise  the  exulting  voice. 
That  hour  which  saw  the  generous  English  name 
Linkt  with  such  damned  deeds  of  everlasting  shame! 

Thee,  Caledonia!   thy  wild  heaths  among. 

Famed  for  the  martial  deed,  the  heaven-taught  song,         45 

To  thee  I  turn  with  swimming  eyes ; 
Where  is  that  soul  of  Freedom  fled? 
Immingled  with  the  mighty  dead, 

Beneath  that  hallow'd  turf  where  Wallace  lies! 


68  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

Hear  it  not,  Wallace!  in  thy  bed  of  death.  50 

Ye  babbling  winds!   in  silence  sweep, 

Disturb  not  ye  the  hero's  sleep, 
Nor  give  the  coward  secret  breath! 
Is  this  the  ancient  Caledonian  form, 

Firm  as  the  rock,  resistless  as  the  storm?  55 

Show  me  that  eye  which  shot  immortal  hate, 

Blasting  the  despot's  proudest  bearing: 
Show  me  that  arm  which,  nerv'd  with  thundering  fate, 

Crushed  Usurpation's  boldest  daring!  — 
Dark-quenched  as  yonder  sinking  star,  60 

No  more  that  glance  lightens  afar; 
That  palsied  arm  no  more  whirls  on  the  waste  of  war. 


INSCRIPTION   FOR   AN   ALTAR 

TO    INDEPENDENCE,    AT    KERROUGHTRY,    SEAT    OF    MR.    HERON, 
WRITTEN    IN   SUMMER,    1795. 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind, 

With  soul  resolv'd,  with  soul  resigned; 

Prepared  Power's  proudest  frown  to  brave. 

Who  wilt  not  be,  nor  have  a  slave ; 

Virtue  alone  who  dost  revere,  5 

Thy  own  reproach  alone  dost  fear, 

Approach  this  shrine,  and  worship  here. 


WRITTEN   WITH  A   PENCIL.  69 


WRITTEN   WITH   A   PENCIL 

OVER    THE    CHIMNEY-PIECE    IN    THE    PARLOR    OF    THE    INN    AT 
KENMORE,   TAYMOUTH. 

Admiring  Nature  in  her  wildest  grace, 

These  northern  scenes  with  weary  feet  I  trace ; 

O'er  many  a  winding  dale  and  painful  steep, 

Th'  abodes  of  covey'd  grouse  and  timid  sheep, 

My  savage  journey,  curious,  I  pursue,  5 

Till  fam'd  Breadalbane  opens  on  my  view.  — 

The  meeting  cliffs  each  deep-sunk  glen  divides, 

The  woods,  wild-scatter'd,  clothe  their  ample  sides ; 

Th'  outstretching  lake,  embosomM  ^nong  the  hills, 

The  eye  with  wonder  and  amazement  fills ;  10 

The  Tay  meandVing  sweet  in  infant  pride. 

The  palace  rising  on  his  verdant  side ; 

The  lawns  wood-fring'd  in  Nature's  native  taste ; 

The  hillocks  dropt  in  Nature's  careless  haste ; 

The  arches  striding  o'er  the  new-born  stream;  15 

The  village,  glittering  in  the  noontide  beam  — 

Poetic  ardors  in  my  bosom  swell. 

Lone  wandVing  by  the  hermit's  mossy  cell : 

The  sweeping  theatre  of  hanging  woods ; 

Th'  incessant  roar  of  headlong  tumbling  floods —  20 

*  *  *  *  *  *■'*  « 

Here  Poesy  might  wake  her  heav'n-taught  lyre, 

And  look  through  Nature  with  creative  fire ; 

Here,  to  the  wrongs  of  Fate  half  reconcil'd, 

Misfortune's  lighten'd  steps  might  wander  wild ; 

And  Disappointment,  in  these  lonely  bounds,  25 

Find  balm  to  soothe  her  bitter,  rankling  wounds : 

Here  heart-stmck  Grief  might  heav'nward  stretch  her  scan, 

And  injur'd  Worth  forget  and  pardon  man. 


70  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

EPISTLE  TO   A   YOUNG    FRIEND. 

MAY,   1786. 

I  LANG  hae  thought,  my  youthfu'  friend, 

A  something  to  have  sent  you, 
Tho'  it  should  serve  nae  ither  end 

Than  just  a  kind  memento ; 
But  how  the  subject-theme  may  gang,  5 

Let  time  and  chance  determine; 
Perhaps,  it  may  turn  out  a  sang, 

Perhaps,  turn  out  a  sermon. 

YeUl  try  the  world  soon,  my  lad. 

And,  Andrew  dear,  believe  me,  10 

YeUl  find  mankind  an  unco  squad, 

And  muckle  they  may  grieve  ye : 
For  care  and  trouble  set  your  thought, 

Ev'n  when  your  end's  attained ; 
And  a'  your  views  may  come  to  nought,  15 

Where  ev'ry  nerve  is  strained. 

ril  no  say,  men  are  villains  a'; 

The  real,  hardenM  wicked, 
Wha  hae  nae  check  but  human  law, 

Are  to  a  few  restricked :  20 

But  och!   mankind  are  unco  weak, 

An'  little  to  be  trusted ; 
If  self  the  wavering  balance  shake, 

It's  rarely  right  adjusted! 

Yet  they  wha  fa'  in  fortune's  strife,  25 

Their  fate  we  should  na  censure. 
For  still  th'  important  end  of  life 

They  equally  may  answer; 


EPISTLE    TO  A    YOUNG  FRIEND.  71 

A  man  may  hae  an  honest  heart, 

Tho'  poortith  hourly  stare  him;  30 

A  man  may  tak  a  neebor's  part, 

Yet  hae  nae  cash  to  spare  him. 

Aye  free,  aff  han'  your  story  tell, 

When  wi'  a  bosom  crony ; 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel  35 

Ye  scarcely  tell  to  ony. 
Conceal  yoursel  as  weePs  ye  can 

Frae  critical  dissection ; 
But  keek  thro'  ev'ry  other  man, 

Wi'  sharpened,  sly  inspection.  40 

The  sacred  lowe  o'  weel-plac'd  love, 

Luxuriantly  indulge  it ; 
But  never  tempt  th'  illicit  rove, 

Tho'  naething  should  divulge  it ; 
I  wave  the  quantum  o'  the  sin,  45 

The  hazard  o'  concealing; 
But  och!    it  hardens  a'  within. 

And  petrifies  the  feeling! 

To  catch  dame  Fortune's  golden  smile, 

Assiduous  wait  upon  her;  50 

And  gather  gear  by  ev'ry  wile 

That's  justify'd  by  honor; 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge. 

Nor  for  a  train  attendant; 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege  55 

Of  being  independent. 

The  fear  o'  helPs  a  hangman's  whip. 

To  haud  the  wretch  in  order; 
But  where  ye  feel  your  honor  grip, 

Let  that  aye  be  your  border :  60 

Its  slightest  touches,  instant  pause  — 


72  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Debar  a'  side  pretences ; 

And  resolutely  keep  its  laws, 

Uncaring  consequences. 

The  great  Creator  to  revere,  65 

Must  sure  become  the  creature ; 
But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear. 

And  ev'n  the  rigid  feature : 
Yet  ne'er  with  wits  profane  to  range, 

Be  complaisance  extended  ;  70 

An  atheist-laugh's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended! 

When  ranting  round  in  pleasure's  ring, 

Religion  may  be  blinded ; 
Or  if  she  gie  a  random  sting,  75 

It  may  be  little  minded ; 
But  when  on  life  we're  tempest-driv'n, 

A  conscience  but  a  canker  — 
A  correspondence  fix'd  wi'  Heav'n 

Is  sure  a  noble  anchor!  80 

Adieu,  dear,  amiable  youth! 

Your  heart  can  ne'er  be  wanting! 
May  prudence,  fortitude,  and  truth. 

Erect  your  brow  undaunting! 
In  ploughman  phrase,  'God  send  you  speed,'         85 

Still  daily  to  grow  wiser; 
And  may  ye  better  reck  the  rede, 

Than  ever  did  th'  adviser! 


MAN   WAS  MADE  TO   MOURN. 

A    DIRGE. 

When  chill  November's  surly  blast 
Made  fields  and  forests  bare. 


MAN   WAS  MADE    TO  MOURN,  73 

One  evening  as  I  wander'd  forth 

Along  the  Banks  of  Ayr, 
I  spy'd  a  man,  whose  aged  step  5 

SeemM  weary,  worn  with  care ; 
His  face  was  furrowed  o^er  with  years, 

And  hoary  was  his  hair. 

^  Young  stranger,  whither  wandVest  thou  ? ' 

Began  the  rev'rend  Sage?  10 

^  Does  thirst  of  wealth  thy  step  constrain, 

Or  youthful  pleasure's  rage?  » 

Or,  haply,  prest  with  cares  and  woes, 

Too  soon  thou  hast  began 
To  wander  forth,  with  me,  to  mourn  15 

The  miseries  of  man. 

'The  sun  that  overhangs  yon  moors. 

Out-spreading  far  and  wide. 
Where  hundreds  labor  to  support 

A  haughty  lordling's  pride;  20 

IVe  seen  yon  weary  winter-sun 

Twice  forty  times  return ; 
And  evVy  time  has  added  proofs. 

That  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

'  O  man  !  while  in  thy  early  years,  25 

How  prodigal  of  time! 
Mis-spending  all  thy  precious  hours. 

Thy  glorious  youthful  prime! 
Alternate  follies  take  the  sway; 

Licentious  passions  burn ;  30 

Which  tenfold  force  give  nature's  law, 

That  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

*  Look  not  alone  on  youthful  prime. 
Or  manhood's  active  might; 


74  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Man  then  is  useful  to  his  kind,  35 

Supported  is  his  right, 
But  see  him  on  the  edge  of  life, 

With  cares  and  sorrows  worn. 
Then  age  and  want,  —  Oh!   ill-match'd  pair!  — 

Show  man  was  made  to  mourn.  40 

^  A  few  seem  favorites  of  fate, 

In  pleasure's  lap  carest ; 
Yet,  think  not  all  the  rich  and  great 
«  Are  likewise  truly  blest. 

But,  oh!   what  crowds  in  ev'ry  land  45 

Are  wretched  and  forlorn; 
Thro'  weary  life  this  lesson  learn, 

That  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

*•  Many  and  sharp  the  numerous  ills 

Inwoven  with  our  frame!  50 

More  pointed  still  we  make  ourselves, 

Regret,  remorse,  and  shame! 
And  man,  whose  heaven-erected  face 

The  smiles  of  love  adorn, 
Man's  inhumanity  to  man  55 

Makes  countless  thousands  mourn! 

*  See  yonder  poor,  o'erlabor'd  wigh 

So  abject,  mean,  and  vile, 
Who  begs  a  brother  of  the  earth 

To  give  him  leave  to  toil;  60 

And  see  his  lordly  fellow-worm 

The  poor  petition  spurn. 
Unmindful,  tho'  a  weeping  wife 

And  helpless  offspring  mourn. 

*  If  I'm  designed  yon  lordling's  slave,  65 

By  Nature's  law  designed. 


A    PRAYER. 


75 


Why  was  an  independent  wish 
E'er  planted  in  my  mind? 

If  not,  why  am  I  subject  to 
His  cruelty,  or  scorn? 

Or  why  has  man  the  will  and  powV 
To  make  his  fellow  mourn? 


70 


^  Yet,  let  not  this  too  much,  my  son, 

Disturb  thy  youthful  breast ; 
This  partial  view  of  human-kind 

Is  surely  not  the  last! 
The  poor,  oppressed,  honest  man, 

Had  never,  sure,  been  born. 
Had  there  not  been  some  recompense 

To  comfort  those  that  mourn! 


75 


80 


'  O  Death !   the  poor  man^s  dearest  friend, 

The  kindest  and  the  best! 
Welcome  the  hour  my  aged  limbs 

Are  laid  with  thee  at  rest! 
The  great,  the  wealthy,  fear  thy  blow, 

From  pomp  and  pleasure  torn ; 
But,  oh!   a  blest  relief  to  those 

That  weary -laden  mourn!' 


85 


A  PRAYER,  UNDER  THE  PRESSURE  OF  VIOLENT 
ANGUISH. 

O  Thou  Great  Being!   what  Thou  art 

Surpasses  me  to  know : 
Yet  sure  I  am,  that  known  to  Thee 

Are  all  Thy  works  below. 


76  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Thy  creature  here  before  Thee  stands,  5 

All  wretched  and  distrest ; 
Yet  sure  those  ills  that  wring  my  soul 

Obey  Thy  high  behest. 

Sure,  Thou,  Almighty,  canst  not  act 

From  cruelty  or  wrath!  10 

O,  free  my  weary  eyes  from  tears. 
Or  close  them  fast  in  death! 

But  if  I  must  afflicted  be, 

To  suit  some  wise  design ; 
Then,  man  my  soul  with  firm  resolves  15 

To  bear  and  not  repine! 


WINTER. 

A    DIRGE. 


The  wintry  west  extends  his  blast, 

And  hail  and  rain  does  blaw ; 
Or    the  stormy  north  sends  driving  forth 

The  blinding  sleet  and  snaw : 
While,  tumbling  brown,  the  burn  comes  down,  5 

And  roars  frae  bank  to  brae : 
And  bird  and  beast  in  covert  rest. 

And  pass  the  heartless  day. 

*The  sweeping  blast,  the  sky  overcast,' 

The  joyless  winter-day,  10 

Let  others  fear,  to  me  more  dear 

Than  all  the  pride  of  May: 
The  tempest^s  howl,  it  soothes  my  soul, 

My  griefs  it  seems  to  join ; 
The  leafless  trees  my  fancy  please,  15 

Their  fate  resembles  mine! 


THE   FIRST  PSALM, 


11 


Thou  Pow'r  Supreme,  whose  mighty  scheme 

These  woes  of  mine  fulfil, 
Here,  firm,  I  rest,  they  must  be  best, 

Because  they  are  Thy  will! 
Then  all  I  want  (Oh!  do  thou  grant 

This  one  request  of  mine!) 
Since  to  enjoy  thou  dost  deny, 

Assist  me  to  resign. 


THE   FIRST   PSALM. 

The  man,  in  life  wherever  plac'd, 

Hath  happiness  in  store, 
Who  walks  not  in  the  wicked's  way, 

Nor  learns  their  guilty  lore : 

Nor  from  the  seat  of  scornful  pride 
Casts  forth  his  eyes  abroad, 

But  with  humility  and  awe 
Still  walks  before  his  God. 

That  man  shall  flourish  like  the  trees 
Which  by  the  streamlets  grow; 

The  fruitful  top  is  spread  on  high, 
And  firm  the  root  below. 

But  he  whose  blossom  buds  in  guilt 
Shall  to  the  ground  be  cast. 

And  like  the  rootless  stubble  tost. 
Before  the  sweeping  blast. 

For  why?   that  God  the  good  adore 
Hath  giv'n  them  peace  and  rest, 

But  hath  decreed  that  wicked  men 
Shall  ne'er  be  truly  blest. 


10 


15 


20 


78  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

THE    FIRST    SIX    VERSES    OF    THE    NINETIETH 

PSALM. 

O  Thou,  the  first,  the  greatest  friend 

Of  all  the  human  race! 
Whose  strong  right  hand  has  ever  been 

Their  stay  and  dwelling-place! 

Before  the  mountains  heav'd  their  heads  5 

Beneath  Thy  forming  hand, 
Before  this  ponderous  globe  itself, 

Arose  at  Thy  command ; 

That  pow'r  which  raised  and  still  upholds 

This  universal  frame,  10 

From  countless,  unbeginning  time 
Was  ever  still  the  same. 

Those  mighty  periods  of  years 

Which  seem  to  us  so  vast. 
Appear  no  more  before  Thy  sight  15 

Than  yesterday  that's  past. 

Thou  giv'st  the  word ;   Thy  creature,  man. 

Is  to  existence  brought ; 
Again  Thou  say'st,  *  Ye  sons  of  men, 

Return  ye  into  nought!'  20 

Thou  layest  them,  with  all  their  cares, 

In  everlasting  sleep ; 
As  with  a  flood  thou  tak\st  them  off 

With  overwhelming  sweep. 

They  flourish  like  the  morning  flowV,  25 

In  beauty's  pride  array 'd ; 
But  long  ere  night  —  cut  down  it  lies 

All  withered  and  decay'd. 


SONGS. 


THE   AUTHOR'S   FAREWELL  TO   HIS   NATIVE 
COUNTRY. 

The  gloomy  night  is  gathVing  fast, 

Loud  roars  the  wild  inconstant  blast, 

Yon  murky  cloud  is  foul  with  rain, 

I  see  it  driving  o'er  the  plain ; 

The  hunter  now  has  left  the  moor,  5 

The  scattered  coveys  meet  secure. 

While  here  I  wander,  prest  with  care, 

Along  the  lonely  banks  of  Ayr. 

The  Autumn  mourns  her  rip'ning  corn 
By  early  Winter's  ravage  torn ;  10 

Across  her  placid,  azure  sky. 
She  sees  the  scowling  tempest  fly : 
Chill  runs  my  blood  to  hear  it  rave, 
I  think  upon  the  stormy  wave. 

Where  many  a  danger  I  must  dare,  15 

Far  from  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr. 

'Tis  not  the  surging  billow's  roar, 
'Tis  not  that  fatal,  deadly  shore ; 
Tho'  death  in  ev'ry  shape  appear. 
The  wretched  have  no  more  to  fear:  20 

But  round  my  heart  the  ties  are  bound, 
79 


80  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 

That  heart  transpierce  with  many  a  wound : 
These  bleed  afresh,  those  ties  I  tear, 
To  leave  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr. 

Farewell,  old  Coila's  hills  and  dales,  25' 

Her  heathy  moors  and  winding  vales ; 
The  scenes  where  wretched  fancy  roves, 
Pursuing  past,  unhappy  loves! 
Farewell,  my  friends!    Farewell,  my  foes! 
My  peace  with  these,  my  love  with  those :  30 

The  bursting  tears  my  heart  declare  — 
Farewell,  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr! 


THE   BANKS   O'    DOON. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 

How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fresh  and  fair! 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

And  I  sae  weary  fu'  o^  care! 
Thoult  break  my  heart,  thou  warbling  bird,  5 

That  wantons  thro'  the  flowering  thorn : 
Thou  minds  me  o'  departed  joys, 

Departed  —  never  to  return. 

Aft  hae  I  rov'd  by  bonnie  Doon, 

To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine ;  10 

And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve, 

And  fondly  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 
Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  puM  a  rose, 

Fu'  sweet  upon  its  thorny  tree ; 
And  my  fause  luver  stole  my  rose,  15 

But  ah  !   he  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 


AFTON    WATER.  81 


AFTON   WATER. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  Til  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise ; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock-dove  whose  echo  resounds  thro'  the  glen,      5 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny  den, 
Thou  green-crested  lapwing,  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighboring  hills, 

Far  marked  with  the  courses  of  clear,  winding  rills;        10 

There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high. 

My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 

How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  valleys  below, 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow; 
There  oft  as  mild  ev'ning  weeps  over  the  lea,  15 

The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 

And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides ; 

How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave. 

As,  gathering  sweet  flowVets,  she  stems  thy  clear  wave.     20 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays ; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 


82  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


HIGHLAND   MARY. 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o^  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers. 

Your  waters  never  drumlie! 
There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes,  5 

And  there  the  langest  tarry ; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O^  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

How  sweetly  bloom'd  the  gay  green  birk. 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom,  10 

As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade, 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings. 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie ; 
For  dear  to  me,  as  light  and  life,  15 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  mony  a  vow,  and  locked  embrace, 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender; 
And,  pledging  aft  to  meet  again. 

We  tore  oursels  asunder;  20 

But  oh!   fell  death's  untimely  frost. 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early ! 
Now  green's  the  sod,  and  cauld's  the  clay, 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary. 

O  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips,  .  25 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly! 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance, 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly! 
And  mould'ring  now  in  silent  dust. 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly!  30 

But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


AULD  LANG   SYNE, 


83 


AULD    LANG   SYNE. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  min'? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  auld  lang  syne? 

CHORUS. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear. 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
Well  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes. 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  fine. 
But  we've  wanderM  mony  a  weary  foot 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

We  twa  hae  paidPt  i'  the  burn. 
From  morning  sun  till  dine ; 

But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roar'd 
Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 

And  here's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fiere. 

And  gie's  a  hand  o'  thine ; 
And  we'll  tak  a  right  guid-willie  waught, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld,  &c. 


10 


15 


20 


84  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 


JOHN   ANDERSON    MY  JO. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquenl, 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 

Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  brow  is  beld,  John,  5 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snaw; 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

We  clamb  the  hill  thegither;  10 

And  mony  a  canty  day,  John, 

WeVe  had  wi'  ane  anither: 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  weUl  go, 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot,  15 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 


MY   NANNIE'S  AWA. 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  Nature  arrays. 
And  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat  o'er  the  braes, 
While  birds  warble  welcomes  in  ilka  green  shaw ; 
But  to  me  it's  delightless  —  my  Nannie's  awa. 

The  snaw-drap  and  primrose  our  woodlands  adorn. 
And  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the  morn : 
They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly  they  blaw, 
They  mind  me  o'  Nannie  —  my  Nannie's  awa. 

Thou  laverock  that  springs  frae  the  dews  o'  the  lawn, 
The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  gray-breaking  dawn, 


MV  HEART'S  IN   THE  HIGHLANDS.  85 

And  thou,  mellow  mavis,  that  hails  the  night-fa', 
Gie  over  for  pity  —  my  Nannie's  awa. 

Come  autumn  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  and  gray, 

And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  nature's  decay ; 

The  dark,  dreary  winter,  and  wild-driving  snaw,  15 

Alane  can  delight  me  —  now  Nannie's  awa. 


SONG. 


Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon, 

Where  bright-beaming  summers  exalt  the  perfume ; 
Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o'  green  breckan, 

Wi'  the  burn  stealing  under  the  lang  yellow  broom. 
Far  dearer  to  me  are  yon  humble  broom  bowers,  5 

Where  the  blue-bell  and  gowan  lurk  lowly,  unseen : 
For  there,  lightly  tripping  amang  the  wild  flowers, 

A-list'ning  the  linnet,  aft  wanders  my  Jean. 

Tho'  rich  is  the  breeze  in  their  gay  sunny  valleys. 

And  cauld  Caledonia's  blast  on  the  wave ;  10 

Their  sweet-scented  woodlands  that  skirt  the  proud  palace. 

What  are  they?  —  the  haunt  of  the  tyrant  and  slave! 
The  slave's  spicy  forests,  and  gold-bubbling  fountains. 

The  brave  Caledonian  views  wi'  disdain ; 
He  wanders  as  free  as  the  winds  of  his  mountains,  15 

Save  Love's  willing  fetters  —  the  chains  o'  his  Jean. 


MY   HEART'S   IN   THE   HIGHLANDS. 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here ; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deer ; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 


86  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell  to  the  North,  5 

The  birth-place  of  valor,  the  country  of  worth ; 
Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove. 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  for  ever  I  love. 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  covered  with  snow ; 
Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  valleys  below ;  10 

Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild-hanging  woods ; 
Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring  floods. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here : 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deer; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe,  15 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  wherever  I  go. 


SONNET  WRITTEN  ON  THE  AUTHOR^S  BIRTHDAY, 

ON   HEARING   A  THRUSH   SING   IN   HIS   MORNING   WALK. 

Sing  on  sweet  thrush,  upon  the  leafless  bough, 

Sing  on  sweet  bird,  I  listen  to  thy  strain, 

See  aged  Winter,  'mid  his  surly  reign. 
At  thy  blythe  carol,  clears  his  furrowed  brow. 

So  in  lone  Poverty's  dominion  drear,  5 

Sits  meek  Content  with  light,  unanxious  heart ; 
Welcomes  the  rapid  moments,  bids  them  part. 
Nor  asks  if  they  bring  aught  to  hope  or  fear. 

I  thank  thee,  Author  of  this  opening  day! 

Thou  whose  bright  sun  now  gilds  yon  orient  skies!  10 

Riches  denied,  thy  boon  was  purer  joys  — 
What  wealth  could  never  give  nor  take  away ! 

Yet  come,  thou  child  of  poverty  and  care, 

The  mite  high  Heaven  bestowed,  that  mite  with  thee  I'll  share. 


BANNOCKBURN, 


87 


BANNOCKBURN. 

ROBERT   BRUCE'S   ADDRESS   TO    HIS   ARMY. 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed. 
Or  to  victorie. 

Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power  — 
Chains  and  slaverie! 


Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward\s  grave? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave? 
Let  him  turn  and  flee! 


10 


Wha  for  Scotland\s  King  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Free-man  stand,  or  free-man  fa'? 
Let  him  on  wi'  me! 


IS 


By  oppression's  woes  and  pains! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins. 
But  they  shall  be  free! 


Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow! 
Let  us  do,  or  die! 


88  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS. 


A   MAN'S   A    MAN    FOR   A»   THAT. 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty, 

That  hangs  his  head,  an'  a'  that? 
The  coward-slave,  we  pass  him  by, 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that! 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that,  5 

Our  toils  obscure,  an'  a'  that; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  stamp ; 
The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  tho'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hodden-gray,  an'  a'  that;  10 

Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  wine, 
A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 

Their  tinsel  show,  an'  a'  that; 
The  honest  man,  tho'  e'er  sae  poor,  15 

Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha  struts,  an'  stares,  an'  a'  that; 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 

He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that :  20 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

His  riband,  star,  an'  a'  that. 
The  man  o'  independent  mind. 
He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  mak  a  belted  knight,  25 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that ; 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might, 
Guid  faith  he  mauna  fa'  that! 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 

Their  dignities,  an'  a'  that,  30 

The  pith  o'  sense,  an'  pride  o'  worth. 
Are  higher  rank  than  a'  that. 


THE  PLOUGHMAN,  89 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that ; 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth,  35 

May  bear  the  gree,  an'  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 

It's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that. 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that.  40 


THE   PLOUGHMAN. 

The  ploughman  he's  a  bonnie  lad, 

His  mind  is  ever  true,  jo. 
His  garters  knit  below  his  knee, 

His  bonnet  it  is  blue,  jo. 

'  CHORUS. 

Then  up  wi'  my  ploughman  lad,  5 

And  hey,  my  merry  ploughman ; 
Of  a'  the  trades  that  I  do  ken, 

Commend  me  to  the  ploughman. 

My  ploughman  he  comes  hame  at  e'en. 

He's  aften  wat  and  weary;  10 

Cast  off  the  wat,  put  on  the  dry, 
And  gae  to  bed,  my  dearie! 
Up  wi',  &c. 

I  will  wash  my  ploughman's  hose, 

And  I  will  dress  his  o'erly;  15 

I  will  mak  my  ploughman's  bed. 

And  cheer  him  late  and  early. 
Up  wi',  &c. 


90  SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS, 

I  hae  been  east,  I  hae  been  west, 

I  hae  been  at  Saint  Johnston,  20 

The  bonniest  sight  that  e'er  I  saw 
Was  the  ploughman  laddie  dancin'. 
Up  vvi',  &c. 

Snaw-white  ^tockin^s  on  his  legs, 

And  siller  buckles  glancin' ;  25 

A  gude  blue  bonnet  on  his  head, 

And  O,  but  he  was  handsome! 
Up  wi',  &c. 


A   BARD'S   EPITAPH. 

Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool, 

Owre  fast  for  thought,  owre  hot  for  rule, 

Owre  blate  to  seek,  owre  proud  to  snool. 

Let  him  draw  near ; 
And  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool,  5 

And  drap  a  tear. 

Is  there  a  bard  of  rustic  song, 

Who,  noteless,  steals  the  crowds  among, 

That  weekly  this  area  throng, 

O,  pass  not  by!  10 

But,  with  a  frater-feeling  strong. 

Here,  heave  a  sigh. 

Is  there  a  man,  whose  judgment  clear 

Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer. 

Yet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career,  15 

Wild  as  the  wave. 
Here  pause  —  and,  thro'  the  starting  tear, 

Survey  this  grave. 

The  poor  inhabitant  below 

Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know,  20 


NATURE'S  LAW. 


91 


And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

And  softer  flame, 

But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

And  stain'd  his  name! 


Reader,  attend  —  whether  thy  soul 
Soars  fancy^s  flights  beyond  the  pole. 
Or  darkling  grubs  this  earthly  hole. 

In  low  pursuit; 
Know,  prudent,  cautious  self-control 

Is  wisdom^s  root. 


25 


30 


A   STANZA    FROM    THE   POEM, 

TO   A   LOUSE, 

ON   SEEING   ONE   ON   A    LADY'S    BONNET   AT   CHURCH. 

O  WAD  some  PowV  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  others  see  us! 
It  wad  frae  mony  a  blunder  free  us 

And  foolish  notion : 
What  airs  in  dress  an'  gait  wad  lea'e  us, 

And  e'en  Devotion! 


NATURE^S  LAW. 

A   POEM   HUMBLY   INSCRIBED   TO   G.   H.   ESQ. 
Great  nature  spoke  —  observant  man  obeyed.  —  Pope 

Ye  Powers  of  peace,  and  peaceful  song, 

Look  down  with  gracious  eyes ; 
And  bless  auld  Coila,  large  and  long, 

With  multiplying  joys. 
Long  may  she  stand  to  prop  the  land. 

The  flowV  of  ancient  nations ; 
And  Burnses  spring,  her  fame  to  sing, 

To  endless  generations!  ^ 


NOTES. 


THE   VISION.     1786.     (Page  i.) 

This  poem  was  composed  while  Burns  was  living  at  Mossgiel. 
Bad  crops  and  wet  seasons  had  brought  great  discouragement. 
His  work  in  life  seemed  of  little  worth.  The  Vision  is  one  of 
hope,  of  recovery  of  faith  in  himself,  together  with  a  just  estimate 
of  his  own  powers.  His  intense  love  of  his  native  heaths  and  haw- 
thorn glades,  as  well  as  his  fervid  patriotism,  breathes  through  the 
poem. 

Duan :  a  Gaelic  word  meaning  a  Canto^  or  division  of  a  poem. 

2.  curlers :  those  engaged  in  the  game  of  curling^  a  favorite 
winter  sport  in  Scotland.  The  players  drive  large  circular  stonr s 
along  the  ice  from  mark  to  mark,  called  the  tee*  roarin  play : 
this  refers  to  the  roaring  sound  made  by  the  curlstone  as  it  is 
driven  over  the  hollow  ice,  as  well  as  to  the  hilarity  of  the  players. 

7.   flingin-tree  :  a  flail. 

15.  hoast-provoking  smeek :  #moke  that  tends  to  excite  a 
cough. 

32.   "waukit  loof :  work-hardened  palm. 

62.  By  that  same  token :  the  holly  is  common  in  Scotland. 
In  the  selection  of  the  holly,  Burns  gives  evidence  of  his  truth  to 
nature  as  he  knew  it.  The  olive  and  laurel,  generally  used  by 
poets  as  symbols  of  honor,  are  classic. 

65.  A  '  hair-brain' d,  sentimental  trace ' :  these  words  are 
quoted  from  his  own  poem,  To  William  Simpson. 

63.  bonnie  Jean :  his  wife,  Jean  Annour. 
72.   A  "w^ell- known  land:  Scotland. 

79-81.  Doon,  Irwine,  Ayr:  streams  in  Burns's  native  shire 
of  Ayr. 

93    . 


94  NOTES.  [page  io. 

86.   An  ancient  borough :   Ayr^  which  was  chartered  in  the 
thirteenth  century. 
98.   a  race  heroic  :  the  Wallaces. 

103.  His  Country's  Saviour  :  Sir  William  Wallace. 

104.  Richardton:  Adam  Wallace  of  Richardton,  cousin  to  Sir 
William  Wallace. 

105.  The  chief,  on  Sark,  etc.  :  Wallace,  laird  of  Craigie,  who 
fought  with  Douglas,  in  the  battle  of  the  Sark  (1448),  and  to 
whose  intrepid  valor  the  victory  was  largely  due.  He  fell,  mor- 
tally wounded,  in  that  action. 

109.  a  Bceptr'd  Pictish  shade  :  Coilus,  king  of  the  Picts,  from 
whom  the  district  of  Kyle  is  named.  Kyle  lies  between  the  Ayr 
and  the  Irwine. 

119.  An  aged  Judge :  Sir  Thomas  Miller,  president  of  the 
Court  of  Sessions. 

122.  The  learned  Sire  and  Son:  Dr.  Matthew  Stewart,  a 
celebrated  mathematician ;  and  his  son,  Dugald  Stewart,  an  emi- 
nent metaphysician,  and  professor  at  the  University  of  Edhiburgh, 
who  had  a  villa  at  Catrine,  on  the  Ayr. 

127.  Bry don's  brave  ward  :  Colonel  Fullarton,  who  had  trav- 
elled under  the  care  of  Patrick  Brydon,  author  of  A  Tour  throxigh 
Sicily  and  Malta.  He  is  referred  to  in  line  1G9  as  '  Fullarton,  the 
brave  and  young.' 

170.  Dempster :  a  Scotch  scholar  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

171.  Beattie:  a  Scotch  poet  and  philosopher  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  author  of  a  poem  entitled  The  Minstrel. 

199.   Coila:   the  Genius  of  Kyle,  as  Burns  poetically  repre- 
sents it. 
201.   Campbells :  a  well-known  Scottish  clan. 
248.   Thomson  :  author  of  The  Seasons. 

250.  Shenstone :  an  English  poet  of  the  eighteenth  century ; 
his  best-known  poem  is  The  Schoolmistress. 

251.  Gray:  author  of  An  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard. 
All  these  poets  were  especial  favorites  with  Burns. 

THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY   NIGHT.    1785.    (Page  10.) 
*  A  sketch  of  family  life  more  pure,  more  true,  or  more  touching, 
Dever  was  made.      Hard  must  that  man^s  heart  have  been,  and 


PAGE  lO.] 


NOTES, 


95 


opaque  his  intellect,  who,  after  reading  The  Cotter^s  Saturday 
Night,  could  have  looked  with  disdainful  eyes  upon  any  cottage. 
Scotland  was  the  first  object  of  his  revelation  —  but  after  Scotland, 
mankind.' — Mrs.  Oliphant. 

'  Had  Burns  written  no  other  poem,  this  heartfelt  rendering  of  a 
good  week's  close  in  a  God-fearing  home,  sincerely  devout,  and  yet 
relieved  from  all  suspicion  of  sermonizing  by  its  humorous  touches, 
would  have  secured  him  a  permanent  place  in  our  literature. ' 

This  poem  is  a  nobly  sincere  tribute  to  the  author's  reverence 
for  the  simple,  heartfelt  piety  of  his  parents.  When  he  first  read  it 
to  his  brother  Gilbert,  before  its  publication,  he  told  Gilbert  that 
his  father's,  'Let  us  worship  God,'  had  always  seemed  to  him 
peculiarly  solemn  and  venerable. 

It  is  a  picture  of  quiet,  every-day,  humble  life  lived  in  honest 
labor  and  the  fear  of  God.  The  depth  and  sincerity  of  the  feeling 
expressed  are  well  attested  by  Burns's  words  to  Dugald  Stewart, 
as  they  were  taking  a  morning  walk  together  during  the  poet's  stay 
in  Edinburgh.  Stewart  says :  *  He  told  me,  when  I  was  admir- 
ing a  distant  prospect,  that  the  sight  of  so  many  smoking  cottages 
gave  a  pleasure  to  his  mind  which  none  could  understand,  who  had 
not  witnessed,  like  himself,  the  happiness  and  worth  which  they 
contained.' 

In  1787,  when  the  poet  was  making  a  tour  of  the  Highlands,  he 
had  for  a  guide  a  lad,  who  told  him,  '  I  like  best  The  Cotter'' s 
Saturday  Night,  although  it  made  me  greet  [weep]  when  my  father 
had  me  to  read  it  to  my  mother.'  On  hearing  this,  Burns  replied, 
*  Well,  my  callant,  I  don't  wonder  at  you  greeting  at  reading  the 
poem  ;  it  made  me  greet  more  than  once  when  I  was  writing  it  at 
my  father's  fireside.' 

The  prefatory  stanza  quoted  from  Gray's  Elegy  strikes  the  key- 
note of  the  change  in  English  poetry,  which  was  brought  to  its  full 
completion  by  Burns  and  Wordsworth.  Pope  and  his  school  had 
chosen  their  themes  from  the  life  of  the  great  and  that  of  cities. 
Gray,  in  picturing  the  innate  worth  of  lives  lived  in  obscurity,  *  far 
from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife,'  showed  that  the  heart  of 
man,  however  humble,  is  the  true  field  for  poetry. 

Burns  has  used  the  Spenserian  stanza  with  good  effect  in  this 
poem. 


96  NOTES.  [PAGE  i6. 

1.  The  friend  to  whom  this  poem  is  addressed  was  Robert 
Aiken,  Ksq. 

2.  No  mercenary  bard :  in  the  eighteenth  century,  authors 
were  accustomed  to  beg  patronage  of  the  rich  and  titled.  They 
wrote  servile,  adulatory  dedications  to  these  patrons  upon  whose 
favor  they  depended.  Burns  scorned  such  fawning.  He  dedicates 
this  poem  to  a  man  above  him  in  social  station,  not  to  secure  his 
patronage,  but  from  motives  of  pure  friendship. 

99.   Bin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell :  since  flax  was  in  flower. 
lll-ll:>.    Dundee,  Martyrs,  Elgin,  are  familiar  hymn-tunes. 
113.    beets  the  flame  :  supplies  the  flame  with  fuel. 
119.   Abraun  Tvas  the  friend  of  Qod  :  see  Genesis  xii. 
120-121.    See  Exodus  xvii .  8-1(5 ;  also  Deuteronomy  xxv  .  17-19. 
122.    the  royal  bard :  David.     See  II  Samuel  xii. 
13;3.    he,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished:  John  the  Apostle. 
See  Revelation  i .  9. 

135.   See  Revelation  xviii. 

138.   The  quotation  is  from  Pope's  Windsor  Forest. 

165.  Compare  Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village :  — 

*  Princes  and  lords  may  flourish  or  may  fade : 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made.' 

166.  The  quotation  is  from  Pope's  Essay  on  Man. 

EPITAPH  ON   MY   EVER  HONORED  FATHER. 
(Page  i6.) 

The  death  of  William  Burness  occurred  at  Lochlea,  February  13, 
1784.  These  lines  by  the  son  are  engraved  on  the  father's  head- 
stone in  Alloway  kirkyard.  John  Murdoch,  the  friend  and  tutor  of 
the  boys,  said  of  the  father  :  '  O  for  a  world  of  men  of  such  dispo- 
sitions !  I  have  often  wished,  for  the  good  of  mankind,  that  it  were 
as  customary  to  honor  and  perpetuate  the  memory  of  those  who 
excel  in  moral  rectitude,  as  it  is  to  extol  what  are  called  heroic 
actions.  Then  would  the  mausoleum  of  the  friend  of  my  youth 
overtop  and  surpass  most  of  those  we  see  in  Westminster  Abbey.' 

8.    Quoted  from  The  Deserted  Village. 


PAGE  i6.]  NOTES.  97 

TO  WILLIAM  SIMPSON.     1785.     (Page  16.) 

The  person  to  whom  this  epistle  is  addressed  was  a  schoolmaster 
in  the  village  of  Ochiltree.  He  was  a  writer  of  verses  too,  but  they 
did  not  rise  above  the  level  of  mediocrity. 

13.   Coila :  See  note  to  line  199  of  The  Vision. 

15.  their  chanters  winna  hain :  will  not  refrain  from  playing 
on  their  instruments. 

25.  Ramsay :  a  Scotch  peasant  poet  of  ability.  His  most  im- 
portant poem  is  entitled  The  Gentle  Shepherd.  Fergusson  : 
another  poet  of  Scotland,  whose  poetry  Burns  greatly  admired, 
and  to  whose  memory  he  wrote  the  following  inscription  :  — 

*  No  sculptured  marble  here,  nor  pompous  lay, 

No  "  storied  urn  or  animated  bust :  " 
This  simple  stone  directs  pale  Scotia's  way. 
To  pour  her  sorrows  o'er  the  poet's  dust. 

*  This  tribute,  with  a  tear,  now  gives 

A  brother  bard  —  he  can  no  more  bestow : 
But  dear  to  fame  thy  Song  immortal  lives, 
A  nobler  monument  than  Art  can  show.' 

Only  the  first  four  lines  of  this  inscription  are  cut  on  the  stone, 
which  was  erected  by  Burns  himself,  in  Canongate  Churchyard, 
Edinburgh,  to  mark  the  grave  of  his  *  elder  brother  in  misfortune.' 

29.  Irwin,  Lugar,  Ayr,  an'  Doon :  '  I  am  hurt,'  Burns  says  in 
his  memoranda,  '  to  see  the  other  towns,  rivers,  woods,  and  haughs 
of  Scotland  immortalized  in  song,  while  my  dear  native  country, 
the  ancient  baileries  of  Carrick,  Kyle,  and  Cunningham,  have  never 
had  one  Scottish  poet  of  eminence  to  make  the  fertile  banks  of 
Irvine,  the  romantic  woodlands  and  sequestered  scenes  of  Ayr,  and 
the  heathy,  mountainous  source  and  winding  sweep  of  the  Doon, 
emulate  Tay,  Forth,  Ettrick,  and  Tweed.'  In  The  Vision^  he  has 
expressed  the  same  feeling. 

41.  bure  the  gree :  bore  off  the  prize  ;  an  allusion  to  Wallace's 
victories. 

47.   red-wat-shod  :  walking  in  blood. 

74.  Hog-shouther :  the  appearance  of  a  flock  of  sheep  when 
driven. 


98  NOTES.  [page  19. 

*  Bunis's  poetical  epistles  to  his  friends  are  admirable,  whether 
for  the  touches  of  satire,  the  painting  of  character,  or  the  sincerity 
of  friendship  they  display/  —  Hazlitt. 

One  writer  says :  *  I  have  heard  one  of  our  most  distinguished 
poets  recite  with  a  sort  of  ecstasy  some  of  the  vei*ses  of  these  epis- 
tles, and  praise  the  ease  of  the  language  and  the  happiness  of  the 
thoughts.' 

STANZAS  FROM  EPISTLES  TO  JOHN  LAPRAIK. 

1785-     (Page  19.) 

John  Lapraik,  to  whom  this  epistle  is  addressed,  was  sixty  years 
old  when  Burns  wrote  these  lines  of  grateful  recognition.  Lapraik 
was  a  lover  of  the  Muse,  who  had  composed  a  number  of  true- 
hearted  songs  inspired  by  love  of  home  and  native  land ;  but  not 
until  he  received  the  encouragement  of  Burns  did  he  venture  to 
publish  his  poems.  The  volume  was  issued  from  the  press  of  John 
Wilson,  Kilmarnock,  in  1788. 

Stanza  I.  —  It  is  a  striking  peculiarity  of  Bums's  rhyming  epis- 
tles that,  in  many  cases,  the  opening  lines,  which  serve  as  a  sort  of 
date,  are  a  description  of  the  characteristic  features  of  the  season 
in  Scotland,  mingled  with  the  poet's  own  feeling  of  joy  in  nature. 
In  the  present  instance,  he  counts  upon  a  kindred  feeling  in  the 
'  Old  Scottish  Bard '  to  gain  a  welcome  for  this  letter  from  *  an  un- 
known frien'.'  Burns's  second  epistle,  called  out  by  Lapraik's 
reply  to  this,  begins  in  a  similar  manner :  — 

*  While  new-ca'd  kye  rowte  1  at  the  stake 
An*  pownies  reek  in  pleugh  or  braik,2 
This  hour  on  e'enin's  edge  I  take, 

To  own  I'm  debtor 
To  honest-hearted,  auld  Lapraik, 

For  his  kind  letter.' 

7.  Fasten-e'en ;  the  night  before  Lent.  rockin :  the  word 
is  the  Scotch  for  distaff.  The  rocA:,  or  roArc,  was  portable,  and  it 
was  customary  for  the  women  to  take  their  rocks  to  their  neigh- 
bors' houses,  to  assist  the  guid-wife  in  spinning  her  wool.    Burns's 

1  Newly  driven  kine  bellow.  2  a  loaded  harrow. 


PAGE  26.] 


NOTES. 


99 


brother  Gilbert  says:  'It  was  at  one  of  these  rockings,  at  our 
house,  when  they  had  twelve  or  fifteen  young  people  with  their 
rocks,  that  Lapraik's  song  beginning,  ''When  I  upon  thy  bosom 
lean,"  was  sung,  and  we  were  informed  who  was  the  author. 
Upon  this  Robert  wrote  his  first  Epistle  to  Lapraik. ' 

11-12.  yokin'  At  *  sang  about ' :  the  custom  of  singing  or  re- 
citing ballads  in  turn,  here  referred  to,  is  common  to  all  primitive 
peoples. 

Stanza  III.  —  The  feeling  expressed  in  this  stanza  is  akin  to 
that  in  The  Cotter^ s  Saturday  Night.  Nowhere  are  the  domestic 
affections  stronger  than  among  the  peasantry  of  Scotland.  In  the 
remaining  stanzas.  Burns  has  not  only  justly  estimated  his  own 
power  and  range  as  a  poet,  but  he  has  also  vividly  expressed  the 
secret  of  genius  —  '  a  spark  of  Nature's  fire. ' 


TO   A   MOUSE.     1785.     (Page  21.) 

This  poem  was  composed  while  Burns  was  following  the  plough 
on  the  farm  at  Mossgiel.  A  farm-hand  who  was  working  with  him 
chased  the  frightened  mouse  whose  nest  had  been  destroyed,  and 
would  have  killed  it  with  a  pattle,  or  spade,  which  he  held  in  his 
hand ;  but  he  was  restrained  by  Burns,  who  inquired  what  harm 
the  poor  mouse  had  done  him.  During  the  following  night.  Burns 
awoke  the  servant  who  occupied  the  bed  with  him,  recited  the 
poem  which  he  had  just  composed,  and  said,  '  What  think  you  of 
our  mouse  now  ? ' 

Tender  sympathy  for  what  the  world  is  pleased  to  call  the  '  lower 
animals '  is  one  of  Burns' s  noticeable  characteristics.  He  hated 
the  chase,  and  protested  against  that  spirit  in  man  which  can  take 
pleasure  in  torturing  any  creature.  This  feeling  he  shared  with 
Cowper  and  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,  all  of  whom  have  written 
eloquently  on  this  theme. 


*  I  would  not  number  in  my  list  of  friends, 
Though  graced  with  sensibility  and  sense, 
The  man  who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm.' 

Cowper:  The  Task, 


100  NOTES.  [PAGE  23. 

'  One  lesson,  shepherd,  let  us  two  divide. 
Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride, 
With  sorrow  of  the  meanest  thing  that  feels.' 

Wordsworth:  Hart-Leap  Well, 

*  He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small : 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all.' 

Coleridge  :  A7icient  Mariner. 

Burns's  magnanimity  —  largeness  of  mind  —  is  nobly  attested  by 
this  poem  :  instead  of  grudging  a  portion  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth, 
as  do  many,  to  what  they  call  the  '  thieving  mouse,'  he  willingly 
shares  his  food  with  the  little  *  beastie,'  who  *  maun  live.' 

A  WINTER  NIGHT.     1786.     (Page  23.) 

The  sympathetic  heart  of  Robbie  Bums  was  never  better  shown 
than  in  this  poem.  He  cannot  sleep  for  thinking  of  the  possible 
suffering  of  the  unhoused  beast  and  bird  in  the  pitiless  storm. 
Truly,  as  Carlyle  says :  *  This  poem  is  worth  several  homilies  on 
mercy,  for  it  is  the  voice  of  Mercy  herself.  Bums,  indeed,  lives  in 
sympathy  :  his  soul  rushes  forth  into  all  the  realms  of  being  : 
nothing  that  has  existence  can  be  indifferent  to  him. ' 

*  The  love  that  God  had  for  the  universe,'  says  Stopford  Brooke, 
*  was  reflected  in  the  breast  of  Burns.'  It  is  this  all-inclusive  love 
that  stamps  the  poetry  of  Robert  Burns  with  the  seal  of  true  reli- 
gion.    See  Matthew  x .  29. 

The  prefatory  quotation  is  from  King  Lear,  Act  III.,  Scene  ii. 

*  It  seems  to  be  a  general  opinion  that  the  six  opening  stanzas, 
in  the  poet's  native  dialect, , are  equal  to  any  he  ever  composed.' 
Burns  himself,  in  a  letter,  speaks  of  this  poem  as  his  *  first  attempt 
in  that  irregular  kind  of  measure  in  which  many  of  our  finest  odes 
are  composed.' 

1.   Boreas :  the  north  wind. 

3.  Phoebus :  the  sun.  These  are  among  the  few  instances  in 
which  Burns  uses  classic  names  for  the  common  aspects  of  nature. 
The  entire  expression  pictures  vividly  the  gloom  of  the  short  winter 
days  in  Scotland. 


PAGE  27.]  NOTES.  101 

31.    PhcBbe  :  the  moon. 

Compare  the  last  stanza  with  that  quoted  from  Coleridge  above. 

TO   A   MOUNTAIN   DAISY.    f786.    (Page  25.) 

This  poem  belongs  to  the  days  of  Mossgiel  farm.  Its  first  title 
was  The  Gowan^  the  Scotch  name  for  daisy.  His  brother  Gilbert 
says,  *  I  could  easily  find  the  spot  where  the  incident  occurred. ' 
When  Wordsworth  visited  the  home  of  Burns,  the  sight  of  the  field 
where  the  *  wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flow'r '  had  been  crushed 
'  amang  the  stoure '  inspired  him  to  write :  — 

*  "There,"  said  a  stripling,  pointing  with  meet  pride 
Towards  a  low  roof,  with  green  trees  half-concealed, 
**  Is  Mossgiel  farm  :  and  that's  the  very  field 
Where  Burns  ploughed  up  the  daisy."    Far  and  wide 
A  plain  below  stretched  seaward,  while,  descried 
Above  sea-clouds,  the  Peaks  of  Arran  rose ; 
And  by  that  simple  notice,  the  repose 
Of  earth,  sky,  sea,  and  air,  was  vivified. 
Beneath  '  the  random  bield  of  clod  or  stone,* 
Myriads  of  daisies  have  shone  forth  in  fiower 
Near  the  lark's  nest,  and  in  their  natural  hour 
Have  passed  away :  less  happy  than  the  one 
That,  by  the  unwilling  ploughshare,  died  to 
Prove  the  tender  charm  of  poetry  and  love. ' 

Cf.  Wordsworth's  own  poems,  To  the  Daisy.  The  daisy  has  been 
a  favorite  flower  with  English  poets  from  the  time  of  Chaucer. 

ON  SCARING  SOME  WATER  FOWL  IN   LOCH- 
TURIT.     1787.     (Page  27.) 

Loch-Turit  is  a  wild  lake  among  the  recesses  of  the  Highlands. 
The  poem  is  the  result  of  a  solitary  morning's  walk,  while  Burns 
was  staying  with  Sir  William  Murray,  of  Ochtertyre,  during  one 
of  his  Highland  tours.  It  is  a  feeling  expression  of  his  desire  to 
maintain  with  birds  and  animals  what  he  has  called  'nature's  social 
union,'  in  the  poem,  To  a  Mouse.  Here,  again,  he  gives  expression 
to  his  abhorrence  of  the  chase. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  the  English  of  this  poem,  in  com- 
parison with  the  Scotch  dialect  of  To  a  Mouse. 


102  NOTES,  [page  29. 

VERSES  ON  THE   DESTRUCTION  OF  SOME 
WOODS.     1 791.     (Page  29.) 

1.   Nith :  a  river  of  Ayrshire. 

48.  a  ducal  crown :  this  refers  to  the  Duke  of  Queensberry, 
who  had  felled  the  trees  on  his  estates  to  raise  money  for  a  dowry 
for  his  daughter.     Burns  looked  upon  trees  as  brothers. 

THE  HUMBLE   PETITION  OF  BRUAR  WATER.     1787. 
(Page  30.) 

The  Falls  of  Bruar  in  Athole  are  very  picturesque ;  but  their 
effect  was  much  impaired  by  the  lack  of  shrubs  and  trees.  During 
his  Highland  tour,  Burns  spent  two  days  at  the  home  of  the  Duke 
of  Athole.  Accompanied  by  his  friend,  Professor  Walker,  the 
poet  visited  this  romantic  scene  just  at  twilight.  *  He  threw  him- 
self,' says  Professor  Walker,  *on  a  heathy  seat,  and  gave  himself 
up  to  a  tender,  abstracted,  and  voluptuous  enthusiasm  of  imagina- 
tion. In  a  few  days,  I  received  a  letter  from  him  with  the  Petition 
enclosed.' 

It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  the  noble  Duke  granted  the  poet's 
request:  the  picturesque  Falls  are  now  crowned  with  thriving 
woods,  and  the  beauty  of  the  scene  is  much  increased. 

74.    angel  band  :  two  sons  and  four  daughters. 
77.   Albion :  a  poetic  name  for  England. 

THE   BRIGS  OF   AYR.     1786.     (Page  33.) 

This  poem  was  written  for  the  second  edition  of  Burns's  poems  ; 
it  is  really  an  expression  of  gratitude  to  those  friends  who  had 
encouraged  him  by  approval  of  his  work.  John  Ballantyne,  to 
whom  it  is  dedicated,  had  generously  befriended  the  poet  when 
farming  had  proved  unproductive.  At  this  time,  Ballantyne  occu- 
pied the  position  of  'Provost  of  Ayr ;  and  the  erection  of  a  new 
bridge  was  proceeding  under  his  magistracy. 

The  form  of  the  poem  is  said  to  have  been  suggested  by  Fer- 
gusson's  i>ta/o^M6  between  the  Plainstanes  and  Causeway;  but  it 
is  certainly  true  that  *all  that  lends  it  life  and  feeling  belongs  to 


PAGE  33.]  NOTES.  103 

his  own  heart  and  to  his  native  Ayr.'  No  Greek  had  a  keener  ear 
for  the  voices  of  the  gods  in  wood  and  stream  than  had  Burns  for 
the  spirit-echoes  of  the  genii  of  his  native  land. 

11.  their  hireling  crimes :  see  note  on  line  2,  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night. 

12.  An  allusion  to  the  custom  of  the  Swiss  to  fight  in  the  pay  of 
other  nations. 

20.  A  delicate  acknowledgment  of  Mr.  Ballantyne's  kindness. 
52.   Simpson's  :  a  noted  tavern  at  the  Auld  Brig  end. 

57.  Dmigeon-clock :  a  clock  in  a  steeple  connected  with  the 
old  jail. 

58.  "Wallace  Tow'r:  an  old  steeple  in  the  High  Street,  now 
replaced  by  an  elegant  tower  so  named. 

68.   gos  :  the  gos-hawk,  or  falcon.  ♦ 

80.  bade  an  unco  bang :  withstood  a  heavy  stroke. 

91.  sheep-shank:  contemptible  thing. 

95.  "wad  a  boddle  :  wager  a  half-farthing. 

103.  Ducat-stream  :  a  noted  ford  just  above  the  Auld  Brig. 

118.  haunted  Garpal :  in  Burns's  time,  the  banks  of  Garpal 
Water  were  believed  to  be  still  haunted  by  ghosts. 

123.  Glenbuck  :  the  source  of  the  river  Ayr.  Ratton-key  : 
a  small  landing-place  above  the  large  quay. 

126.  gumlie  jaups  :  muddy  jets.  This  entire  passage  turned 
out  to  be  strikingly  prophetic.  In  1877  the  '  New  Brig '  was  closed 
to  all  traffic,  because  a  threatening  rent  had  been  discovered  in  its 
masonry.  On  the  other  hand,  the  'Auld  Brig,'  which  for  eighty 
years  had  been  used  for  foot  passengers  only,  was  again  opened  for 
wheeled  carriages,  the  new  brig  being  a  *  shapeless  cairn. ' 

140.  the  second  dread  command  :  the  second  commandment. 
See  Exodus  xx. 

175.  mak  to  through  :  pass  current. 

202.  M'Lauchlan :  a  well-known  performer  of  Scottish  music 
on  the  violin. 

225.  Courage :  a  complimentary  allusion  to  Captain  Hugh  Mont- 
gomery, of  Coilsfield. 

226.  Feal:  a  tributary  of  the  Ayr,  which  flows  through  the 
grounds  of  Captain  Montgomery. 


104  NOTES.  [page  40. 

228.  A  female  form  :  an  allusion  to  Mrs.  Stewart,  of  Stair. 

229.  Learning,  etc. :  a  tribute  to  Professor  Dugald  Stewart,  of 
Catrine. 

On  July  8,  1891,  a  statue  of  Burns  was  unveiled  at  Ayr.  On 
that  occasion,  an  original  poem,  entitled  The  Axdd  Brig'^s  Wel- 
come^ was  recited  by  its  author,  Mr.  Wallace  Bruce.  The  follow- 
ing stanzas  are  taken  from  that  poem  :  — 

*  The  Auld  Brig  hails  wi*  hearty  cheer,  — 
Uncover,  lads,  for  Bums  is  here! 

The  bard  who  links  us  all  to  fame, 
And  blends  his  own  with  Scotia's  name. 

*  Old  Coila's  had  her  share  of  fame, 
Her  bead-roll  treasures  many  a  name ; 
She's  had  her  heroes  great  and  sma', 
But  Robin  stands  aboon  them  a'. 

*  The  auld  clay  biggin  of  his  birth 
Becomes  the  shrine  of  all  the  earth ; 
The  room  where  rose  the  cotter's  prayer, 
The  proudest  heritage  of  Ayr. 

—  *  His  living  song 
Protects  the  weak  and  tramples  wrong ; 
Refracting  radiance  of  delight, 
His  prismed  genius,  clear  and  bright. 
Illumes  all  Scotland  far  and  wide. 
And  Caledonia  throbs  with  pride 
To  hear  her  grand  old  Doric  swell 
From  Highland  crag  to  lowland  dell ; 
To  find,  where'er  her  children  stray. 
Her  •'  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  her  "  Scots  wha  hae," 
And  words  of  hope  which  proudly  span 
The  centuries  vast  —  "A  man's  a  man."  ' 

TAM  O'  SHANTER.    1790.    (Page  40.) 

This  poem  belongs  to  that  period  of  the  author's  life  which  was 
spent  at  Ellisland,  and  after  he  had  become  famous.  It  was  sug- 
gested in  this  wise  :  Captain  Grose,  an  antiquary,  who  was  travelling 


PAGE40.]  NOTES.  105 

through  Scotland  in  search  of  interesting  ruins  and  relics,  came 
to  Friars'  Carse  Hermitage,  near  Ellisland,  and  soon  became  very 
friendly  with  the  poet.  Burns  requested  him  to  include  AUoway 
Kirk,  where  his  father  was  buried,  in  his  work  on  the  '  Antiquities 
of  Scotland.'  Grose  consented  to  do  so,  on  condition  that  Burns 
should  write  a  poem  to  accompany  the  illustration  of  the  old  kirk. 
The  result  was  the  production  of  an  inimitable  poem,  alive  with 
the  rollicking  spirit  of  Humor  itself.  It  has  been  said  that  '  No 
other  poem  in  our  language  displays  such  variety  of  power,  in  the 
same  number  of  lines.' 

For  the  framework  of. the  story.  Burns  drew  upon  two  sources: 
in  his  youth,  he  had  known  a  farmer  named  Grahame,  who  lived 
on  a  little  farm  of  Shanter,  near  Kirkoswald.  On  market  days 
he  often  rode  to  Ayr,  and  having  lost  his  money,  he  told  his  wife, 
whose  scolding  tongue  he  dreaded,  that  he  had  been  waylaid  by 
witches,  and  robbed  near  Alio  way  Kirk.  This  fact  Burns  has 
clothed  in  the  traditional  witch-lore  associated  with  his  boyish 
recollections  of  the  place. 

The  wife  of  the  poet  relates  the  circumstances  connected  with 
the  composition  of  the  tale.  It  was  the  work  of  one  day  which 
Burns  had  spent  by  the  riverside.  In  the  afternoon,  she  joined 
him  with  her  two  children.  He  was  busily  engaged  '  croonin  to 
himseV.''  Not  wishing  to  disturb  him,  she  loitered  among  the 
broom.  Presently,  however,  she  observed  him  making  wild  ges- 
ticulations, and,  drawing  near,  she  found  him  with  the  tears  rolling 
down  his  cheeks,  and  reciting  these  lines  :  — 

*  Now  Tam,  O  Tarn !  had  they  been  queans 
A'  plump,  and  strapping  in  their  teens.' 

Having  committed  his  verses  to  writing  on  the  top  of  his  sod-dyke. 
Burns  came  to  the  house,  and  read  them  immediately  '  in  high 
triumph '  at  the  fireside. 

Auld  Alloway  Kirk  stands  not  far  from  the  birthplace  of  Burns. 
Tam  o'  Shanter  Inn  is  situated  on  High  Street,  Ayr ;  in  1892,  it 
was  bought  by  one  of  the  town  council,  and  is  now  devoted  to 
memorial  purposes.  The  spots  mentioned  in  the  poem  are  pointed 
out  with  pride  to  visitors. 

Tam  o'  Shanter  presents  vividly  one  side  of  Scotch  life,  and  it 


106  NOTES.  [page  47. 

divides  with  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  the  reverence  and  pride 
of  the  countrymen  of  Burns. 

1.  chapman  billies  :  peddler  fellows. 

23.  ilka  melder  :  the  meaning  of  the  passage  is  :  Every  time 
that  he  carried  corn  to  the  mill,  he  sat  drinking  with  the  miller. 

28.  Kirkton :  the  village  where  the  parish  church  stands  is 
called  Kirkton,  or  churchtown,  in  Scotland.  Jean  :  Kennedy,  a 
public-house  keeper  in  Kirkoswald. 

40.  reaming  swats  :  foaming  ale. 

41.  Souter  :  shoemaker. 
80.  bogles  :  ghosts. 

107.   tippenny  :  twopenny-ale. 

119.    "winnock-bunker  :  window-seat. 

121.   tcwzie  tyke  :  shaggy  dog. 

123.   gart  them  skirl :  made  them  scream. 

154.  seventeen  hunder  :  the  manufacturer's  term  for  very  fine 
linen,  woven  in  a  reed  of  1700  divisions. 

195.  pussie's  :  the  hare. 

208.  It  was  believed  that  witches  or  other  evil  spirits  have  no 
power  to  follow  a  man  farther  than  the  middle  of  the  nearest  run- 
ning stream. 

TO  JAMES  SMITH.     1786.     (Page  47-) 

James  Smith,  to  whom  this  poem  was  addressed,  was  a  shop- 
keeper in  Mauchline,  and  the  comrade  of  Burns  in  many  a  merry- 
making. He  proved  a  stanch  friend  of  the  poet  in  very  trying 
circumstances,  and  Burns  was  sincerely  attached  to  him. 

One  critic  considers  this  the  best  of  Burns's  poetical  epistles  for 
'  the  singular  ease  of  the  verse  ;  the  moral  dignity  of  one  passage, 
the  wit  and  humor  of  a  second,  the  elegance  of  compliment  in  a 
third,  and  the  life  which  animates  the  whole.' 

3.  warlock-breef :  spell. 

22.  HooUe:  softly. 

23.  red :  warn. 

99.  Luna  :  the  moon  —  a  symbol  of  fickleness. 

115.  Dempster  :  George  Dempster,  M.P.,  a  distinguished  patriot. 


PAGE  56.]  NOTES.  107 

116.  garter  :  the  highest  order  of  knighthood  in  England  is  the 
*  Order  of  the  Garter.'  It  was  instituted  by  Edward  III.  Willie 
Pitt :  William  Pitt,  one  of  the  ablest  English  statesmen  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  He  was  afterwards  raised  to  the  peerage  as 
the  Earl  of  Chatham. 

117.  be-ledger'd  cit :  a  citizen  who  is  engaged  in  commerce. 
123.   muslin-kail :  thin  broth. 

EPISTLE  TO  DAVIE.    1784.     (Page  52.) 

David  Sillar,  to  whom  this  epistle  is  addressed,  was  a  school- 
master who  had  written  some  verse  in  the  Scottish  dialect.  He 
was  one  of  Burns's  most  valued  friends.  He  died  in  1830,  at  the 
age  of  seventy. 

The  poet's  brother  Gilbert  relates  that,  in  the  summer  of  1784, 
while  he  and  Robert  were  weeding  the  garden  one  day,  Robert 
repeated  the  greater  part  of  this  epistle.  Gilbert  says  :  '  I  believe 
that  the  first  idea  of  Robert's  becoming  an  author  was  started  on 
this  occasion.  I  was  much  pleased  with  the  epistle,  and  said  to 
him,  I  was  of  the  opinion  it  would  bear  being  printed,  and  that  it 
would  be  well  received  by  people  of  taste ;  that  I  thought  it  at 
least  equal,  if  not  superior,  to  many  of  Allan  Ramsay's  epistles, 
and  that  the  merit  of  these,  and  much  other  Scottish  poetry,  seemed 
to  consist  principally  in  the  knack  of  the  expression  ;  but  that  here 
there  was  a  strain  of  interesting  sentiment,  and  the  Scotticism  of  the 
language  seemed  scarcely  affected,  but  appeared  to  be  the  natural 
language  of  the  poet.   Robert  seemed  well  pleased  with  my  criticism.' 

20.  "wair't :  spend  it. 

25.  This  line  is  quoted  from  Allan  Ramsay  — '  Don't  ask  more, 
no  fear  have.' 

122.  The  meaning  of  this  line  is,  *  Run  at  an  uncommon  pace.' 

ADDRESS  TO  THE   UNCO  QUID.     1786.     (Page  56.) 

*  Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged,'  said  Jesus. 

*  These  lines  are  steeped  in  the  spirit  of  Christianity.' 

—  Stopford  Brooke. 
In  a  letter  written  in  1784,  Burns  had  penned  these  words  :  *  I 


108  NOTES.  [PAGE  58. 

have  often  noticed  that  every  man,  even  the  worst,  has  something 
good  about  him,  though  very  often  nothing  else  than  a  happy  tem- 
perament of  constitution  inclining  him  to  this  or  that  virtue.  For 
this  reason,  no  man  can  say  in  wliat  degree  any  other  person  can 
be  with  strict  justice  called  wicked.  Let  any  one,  of  the  strictest 
character  for  regularity  of  conduct,  examine  how  many  of  the 
weaknesses  of  mankind  he  has  escaped  because  he  was  out  of  the 
line  of  temptation  ;  and  how  much  he  is  indebted  to  the  world's 
good  opinion,  because  the  world  does  not  know  it  all.  I  say,  any 
man  who  can  thus  think  will  scan  the  failings,  nay,  the  faults  and 
crimes,  of  mankind  around  him  with  a  brother's  eye.' 

*  Who,  on  the  text,  **  He  that  is  without  sin  among  you,  let  him 
first  cast  a  stone,"  ever  preached  such  a  sermon  as  Burns  in  his 
Address  to  the  Unco  Guid  ? ' 

When  Wordsworth  visited  the  home  of  Burns  in  1803,  sympa- 
thetic feeling  moved  him  to  pour  forth  his  thoughts  in  verse  —  such 
judgment  as  we  may  imagine  would  have  been  very  grateful  to  the 
sorely  tried  heart  of  Burns  :  — 

*  Leaving  each  unquiet  theme 

Where  gentlest  judgments  may  misdeem, 
And  prompt  to  welcome  every  gleam 

Of  good  and  fair, 
Let  us  beside  this  limpid  stream, 

Breathe  hopeful  air. 

*  Enough  of  sorrow,  wreck,  and  blight ; 
Think  rather  of  those  moments  bright 
When  to  the  consciousness  of  right 

His  course  was  true. 
When  Wisdom  prospered  in  his  sight 
And  virtue  grew.' 

ANSWER  TO  VERSES   ADDRESSED  TO    THE    POET. 

1787.    (Page  58.) 

This  epistle  was  called  forth  by  a  rhymed  complimentary  letter 
which  Burns  had  received,  about  three  months  after  his  arrival  in 
Kdinburgh,  from  the  wife  of  a  Roxburghshire  laird,  who  was  her- 
self an  amateur  in  the  fine  arts. 


pa(;e62.]  notes,  109 

The  marled  plaid  referred  to  by  Burns  in  the  last  stanza  is  thus 
offered  by  the  lady  :  — 

*  O  gif  I  kenn'd  but  where  ye  bide, 
I'd  send  to  you  a  marled  plaid  ; 
Twad  baud  your  shouthers  warm  and  braw, 
An'  douce  at  kirk  or  market-shaw.' 

PROLOGUE.      1787.      (Page  60.) 

Mr.  Woods,  for  whom  this  Prologue  was  written,  was  a  popular 
actor  in  Edinburgh.  He  had  been  the  friend  of  Fergusson,  the  poet, 
and,  for  that  reason,  was  doubly  dear  to  Burns.  He  died  in  1802, 
and  was  buried  in  the  Old  Calton  burial-ground  at  Edinburgh.  In 
1866,  his  headstone  having  fallen  into  decay,  it  was  renewed  by  *  a 
number  of  old  citizens  who  remembered  his  fame,  and  the  pleasure 
he  had  often  afforded  them.' 

8.  Siddons :  an  eminent  actress.  Southern :  an  actor  of 
note. 

17.  Philosophy  :  the  two  great  lights  in  Philosophy  referred  to, 
were  Professor  Reid  at  St.  Andrews,  and  Dugald  Stewart  at  Edin- 
burgh. 

19.  History  :  Kobertson  and  Hume,  the  great  Scotch  historians 
of  the  eighteenth  century. 

21.  Douglas  :  an  allusion  to  Home's  Tragedy  of  Douglas. 

22.  Harley  :  Henry  Mackenzie,  author  of  The  Man  of  Feeling. 

CASTLE  GORDON.   1787.   (Page  61.) 

Castle  Gordon  was  the  home  of  the  lady  who  had  welcomed 
Burns  to  Edinburgh  ;  during  his  Highland  tour  he  visited  the  cas- 
tle. In  his  journal.  Burns  writes ;  '  The  Duke  makes  me  happier 
than  ever  great  man  did — noble,  princely,  yet  mild,  condescend- 
ing, and  affable,  gay,  and  kind  —  the  Duchess  charming,  witty,  and 
sensible  —  God  bless  them  ! ' 

The  poem  was  composed  after  his  return  to  Edinburgh,  and  was 
sent  to  the  librarian  of  Castle  Gordon.  The  duchess  guessed  the 
lines  to  be  by  Beattie,  and  on  learning  that  they  were  by  Burns, 
regretted  that  they  were  not  in  the  Scottish  language. 


no  NOTES.  [PAGE  63. 

Every  kindness  shown  to  Bums  was  keenly  appreciated  by  him, 
and  he  was  moved  to  express  his  feeling  in  the  only  way  possible 
—  in  grateful  verse. 

ADDRESS  TO  EDINBURGH.    1786.    (Page  62.) 

This  poem  was  composed  soon  after  Burns' s  arrival  in  Edinburgh. 
It  is  a  nobly  dignified  expression  of  his  love  of  his  native  land,  and 
his  pride  in  her  history.  It  is  also  a  feeling  tribute  to  the  kind, 
appreciative  reception  which  he  had  met  with  in  the  capital. 

20.  Burnet :  the  daughter  of  Lord  Monboddo,  at  whose  house 
Burns  had  been  several  times  entertained. 

54.  Haply  my  sires,  etc.  :  it  is  said  that  the  father  of  the  poet 
fought  at  CuUoden.  The  ancestoi*s  of  William  Burness  were  tenant 
farmers  of  George  Keith,  the  Earl  Mareschal  of  Scotland  ;  they 
were  stanch  Jacobites,  and  in  1715  joined  in  the  Jacobite  uprising. 
Cf.  Scott's  description  of  Edinburgh  in  Marmion,  Canto  IV.,  xxx., 

XXXII. 

LAMENT  OF  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS.     1791. 
(Page  64.) 

This  poem  was  composed  at  the  request  of  Lady  Winifred  Max- 
well Constable,  who  resided  in  an  old  baronial  castle  on  the  Nith. 
Her  family  had  been  devoted  adherents  of  the  Stuarts,  and  the  un- 
fortunate Queen  Mary  took  refuge  in  this  castle  while  on  her  way 
to  England. 

Bums  was  proud  of  this  poem.  In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Graham,  he 
remarks  concerning  it :  *  Whether  it  is  that  the  story  of  our  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  has  a  peculiar  effect  on  the  feelings  of  a  poet,  or 
whether  I  have  in  the  enclosed  ballad  succeeded  beyond  my  usual 
poetic  success,  I  know  not,  but  it  has  pleased  me  beyond  any  effort 
of  ray  Muse  for  a  good  while  past.' 

*  This  is  one  of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  simple  art  won  through 
the  natural  power  of  contrast,  often  so  mysteriously  manifested 
between  nature  and  our  human  lot.'  — J.  Veitch. 

33.  thou  false  woman :  Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England,  to  whom 
Mary  fled  for  protection,  had  her  imprisoned,  and  finally  executed. 


PAGE  69.]  NOTES,  111 

41.  My  son :  James  VI.  of  Scotland,  and  afterwards  James  I.  of 
England. 

ODE  FOR  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY.     1794. 
(Page  66.) 

Oil  one  occasion,  at  a  dinner  in  Dumfries,  given  by  government 
ofiBcials,  the  health  of  William  Pitt  was  proposed.  '  I  give  you  the 
health  of  George  Washington,  a  much  greater  and  better  man,' 
cried  Burns.  The  company  demurred,  and  Bilrns  left  the  table 
in  disgust.  This  incident  shows  why  the  poet  chose  to  dedicate  his 
Ode  to  Liberty  to  the  name  of  Washington.  In  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop,  Burns  wrote :  '  I  am  going  to  trouble  your  critical  patience 
with  the  first  sketch  of  a  stanza  I  have  been  framing  as  I  passed 
along  the  road.  The  subject  is  Liberty :  you  know,  my  honored 
friend,  how  dear  the  theme  is  to  me.  I  design  it  as  an  irregular 
Ode  for  General  Washington's  birthday.'  The  stanza  referred  to 
is  the  concluding  stanza  of  the  poem. 

Burns,  in  common  with  other  young  poets  of  the  period,  sympa- 
thized with  the  French  Revolutionists  in  their  struggle  for  liberty. 
They  felt  that  England,  in  making  war  upon  France,  had  betrayed 
this  cause.  Cf.  Coleridge's  Ode  to  France,  and  Wordsworth's  Son- 
nets—  To  Milton  and  Great  Men  Have  Been  among  Us. 

INSCRIPTION  FOR  AN  ALTAR  TO  INDEPENDENCE. 
1795.     (Page  68.) 

This  fragment  breathes  the  spirit  of  true  independence  and  the 
love  of  virtue. 
Cf.  Milton's  Comus :  — 

Mortals  that  would  follow  me, 
Love  Virtue !  she  alone  is  free.* 

WRITTEN  WITH   A   PENCIL.     1787.     (Page  69.) 

The  castle  of  Taymouth,  the  residence  of  the  Earl  of  Breadal- 
bane,  is  said  to  be  a  magnificent  structure,  surrounded  by  splen- 
did old  trees  and  romantic  scenery.    Burns  visited  this  spot  in 


112  NOTES,  [PAGE  70. 

his  Highland  tour  in  company  with  his  friend,  Mr.  Nicol.  *The 
truthfulness  of  Burns's  description  will  be  felt  by  all  who  know 
the  locality.' 

EPISTLE   TO   A   YOUNG   FRIEND.     1786.     (Page  70.) 

The  young  friend  to  whom  this  epistle  is  addressed  was  Andrew 
Aiken,  son  of  Robert  Aiken,  to  whom  The  Cotter^ s  Saturday  Night 
is  dedicated.  He  became  a  merchant  in  Liverpool,  and  was 
honored  with  an  appointment  to  a  Russian  consulate. 

The  poem  is  replete  with  wise  suggestion  for  the  conduct  of  life, 
and  shows  clearly  what  reverence  and  large  charity  actuated  the 
writer  ;  it  also  reveals  what  motive-principles  he  would  inculcate, 
and  what  virtues  he  would  cultivate. 

Stanza  5  gives  advice  which  may  be  paralleled  by  that  of  Polo- 
nius  to  his  son,  in  Shakespeare's  Hamlet :  — 

'  Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice : 
Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment.' 

87.  reck  the  rede:  heed  the  counsel.  Cf.  Hamlet^  I.  iii.  51. 
The  worth  of  a  writer's  words  should  be  estimated  by  their  intrin- 
sic merit,  not  by  his  own  shortcomings.  Burns  is  frank  with  his 
readers  ;  he  acknowledges  how  far  below  the  level  of  his  own 
standard  is  much  of  his  life.  His  Address  to  the  Unco  Guid^  itself 
a  plea  for  charity  in  judging,  is  a  revelation  of  his  heart  struggles. 

MAN  WAS  MADE   TO  MOURN.     1785.     (Page  72.) 

The  suggestion  for  this  poem  may  be  traced  to  the  poet's  recol- 
lection of  his  mother's  songs  heard  in  his  childhood.  He  writes  to 
his  friend,  Mrs.  Dunlop :  *  I  had  an  old  grand-uncle,  with  whom 
my  mother  lived  in  her  girlish  years  ;  the  good  old  man  was  long 
blind  ere  he  died,  during  which  time  his  highest  enjoyment  was 
to  sit  and  cry,  while  my  mother  would  sing  the  simple  old  song  of 
The  Life  and  Age  of  3fan.'' 

The  incident  which  served  as  an  immediate  suggestion,  however, 
occurred  in  the  poet's  twenty-sixth  year.  One  evening  he  went  to 
see  a  young  girl  who  lived  with  a  decrepit  old  father,  and  found 


FACE  75-]  NOTES.  113 

^he  old  man  mourning  because  his  cow  was  lost.  The  daughter 
had  gone  in  search  of  the  stray  animal,  and  Burns  set  out  to  look 
for  her.  On  the  way  he  met  another  young  man  who  had  come 
on  the  same  errand  as  himself.  Burns  said  to  him  :  '  Baith  she  and 
the  cow's  lost,  and  the  auld  man  is  perfectly  wild  at  the  want  of 
them.'  Then  they  both  joined  in  the  search:  Burns's  companion 
noticed  that  he  was  very  sober  for  a  time^  when  suddenly  he  turned 
and  walked  rapidly  toward  Mauchline.  The  next  time  they  met, 
Burns  apologized  for  his  singular  behavior.  —  'Oh,'  said  his  friend, 
*  Robin,  there  is  no  occasion,  for  I  supposed  some  subject  had 
occurred  to  you,  and  that  you  were  thinking,  and  perhaps  com- 
posing something  on  it.'  —  'You  were  right,'  said  the  poet,  'and 
I  will  now  read  you  what  was  chiefly  the  work  of  that  evening.' 
The  grief  of  the  poor  old  man  had  recalled  the  words  of  the  song 
that  he  had  often  heard  his  mother  sing,  and  this  was  the  result. 
The  first  stanza  of  The  Life  and  Age  of  Man  is  as  follows :  — 

*  Upon  the  sixteen  hundred  year 

Of  God  and  fifty-three 
Frae  Christ  was  born,  who  bought  us  dear, 

As  writings  testifie. 
On  January  the  sixteenth  day. 

As  I  did  lie  alone, 
With  many  a  sigh  and  sob  did  say. 

Ah!  man  was  made  to  mourn.' 

A  PRAYER,  UNDER  THE   PRESSURE  OF  VIOLENT 
ANGUISH.     1781.     (Page  75.) 

Burns  writes  of  this  poem  :  '  There  was  a  certain  period  of  my 
life  that  my  spirit  was  broken  by  repeated  losses  and  disasters, 
which  threatened  and  indeed  effected  the  utter  ruin  of  my  fortune. 
My  body,  too,  was  attacked  by  that  most  dreadful  distemper,  a 
hypochondria,  or  confirmed  melancholy ;  in  this  wretched  state, 
the  recollection  of  which  makes  me  yet  shudder,  I  hung  my  harp 
on  the  willow  trees,  except  in  some  lucid  intervals,  in  one  of  which 
I  composed  the  following  prayer.' 

John  Stuart  Blackie  says  of  this  poem  :  '  The  man  who  could 
feel  and  write  thus  was  not  far  from  the  best  piety  of  the  Psalms 
of  David.' 


114  NOTES,  [PAGE  76. 

WINTER.     A   DIRGE.     1781.    (Page  76.) 

This  poem  belongs  to  the  same  period  referred  to  in  the  Prayer. 
Biirns's  life  seemed  to  lie,  as  he  said,  ♦  in  a  tract  of  misfortunes.' 
His  father's  health  was  failing ;  he  had  been  robbed  by  his  part- 
ner ;  his  flax-dressing  shop  had  burned.  He  himself  had  fallen 
into  debasing  associations. 

We  learn  from  Burns's  Commonplace  Book  that  he  took  a  pecul- 
iar pleasure  in  winter.  He  writes  :  *  There  is  scarcely  any  object 
gives  me  more  —  I  don't  know  if  I  should  call  it  pleasure,  but 
something  which  exalts  me,  something  which  enraptures  me,  — 
than  to  walk  in  the  sheltered  side  of  a  wood  or  high  plantation 
in  a  cloudy  winter  day,  and  hear  a  stormy  wind  howling  among 
the  trees  and  raving  over  the  plain.  It  is  my  best  season  for  devo- 
tion ;  my  mind  is  wrapt  up  in  a  kind  of  enthusiasm  to  Him, 
who,  in  the  language  of  Scripture,  **  walks  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind." ' 

Professor  Veitch  says :  '  We  ought  to  be  thankful  to  the  poet  for 
his  precious  susceptibilities,  for  thus  the  world  came  to  know  that 
there  was  a  new  link  of  communion  between  the  pure  soul  of  man 
and  the  universe  of  God.' 

9.   This  line  is  quoted  from  the  poems  of  Young. 

THE   FIRST   PSALM  (Page  77)  and  THE   FIRST   SIX 
VERSES  OF  THE   NINETIETH   PSALM  (Page  78). 

Both  were  composed  in  1781.  The  Ninetieth  Psalm  is  said  to 
have  been  a  favorite  in  the  household  of  William  Burness. 

Cf.  the  metrical  paraphrases  of  Psalms  by  Milton. 

*  It  is  the  religious  element  in  Burns  that  fuses  and  kindles  all 
the  rest,  that  makes  him  the  voice  of  the  race  at  its  best  when  he 
is  at  bis  best.*  — £.  Charlton  Black. 


THE  SONGS  OF  BURNS. 


During  the  last  eight  years  of  his  life,  Burns's  genius  found 
expression  chiefly  in  song.  In  all  modern  literature  there  are  no 
lyrics  like  his  ;  as  one  writer  says ;  *  His  songs  are  not,  like  many 
modern  ones,  set  to  music  ;  they  are  themselves  music'  The 
explanation  of  this  is  not  far  to  seek :  he  tells  that  he  laid  it  down 
as  a  rule,  whenever  he  wished  to  compose  a  song,  to  croon  over 
some  melody  until  he  caught  its  inspiration  ;  by  this  he  modulated 
the  rhythm  of  his  words. 

Burns's  childhood  was  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  song ;  his 
mother  sang  the  old  Scottish  tunes  to  her  boy  from  his  cradle  ; 
through  all  his  young  life  on  the  farm,  the  future  poet  daily  heard 
and  whistled  and  sang  these  tunes  of  his  native  land.  As  he  drove 
his  plough,  or  walked  in  the  fields,  he  was  accustomed  to  pore  over 
an  old  song-book  which  he  dearly  prized.  Love  of  country  was 
thus  both  awakened  and  nourished  ;  even  then  he  hoped  that  he 
might  sometime,  *  for  poor  old  Scotland's  sake,  sing  a  song  at  least.' 

The  songs  of  Burns,  although  national  in  the  sense  that  they 
truthfully  and  powerfully  voice  the  spirit  of  the  land  itself,  are 
universal  in  that  they  speak  the  language  of  the  heart,  and  find 
words  for  '  the  thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears.'  Prin- 
cipal Shairp  says  that  Burns  was  happy  as  a  singer  in  that  '  his 
own  strong  nature,  his  birth,  and  all  his  circumstances,  conspired 
to  fix  his  interest  on  the  primary  and  permanent  affections,  the 
great  fundamental  relations  of  life,  —  not  on  the  social  conven- 
tions, which  are  here  to-day,  forgotten  in  the  next  generation. 
Consider,  too,  the  perfect  naturalness,  the  entire  spontaneity,  of 
his  singing.  It  gushes  from  him  as  easily,  as  clearly,  as  sunnily, 
as  the  skylark's  song  does.  In  this  he  surpasses  all  other  song- 
composers.' 

These  songs  cover  a  wide  range  and  touch  many  moods. 

"5 


116  NOTES,  [PAGE  79. 

THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL  TO  HIS  NATIVE  COUN- 
TRY.    1786.    (Page  79.) 

Tliis  song  was  composed  when  Burns  wiis  expecting  to  leave  his 
native  hind  for  Jamaica.  His  departure  was  prevented  by  the 
timely  reception  of  a  letter  from  Dr.  Blacklock  of  Edinburgh, 
which  led  him  to  visit  the  capital  in  order  to  publish  a  second  edi- 
tion of  his  poems.  Professor  Walker,  who  met  Burns  at  breakfast 
with  Dr.  Blacklock  soon  after  his  arrival  in  Edinburgh,  tells  that, 
after  breakfast,  he  asked  Burns  to  *  communicate  some  of  his  un- 
published pieces ;  when  he  recited  his  farewell  song  to  the  Banks 
of  Ayr,  introducing  it  with  a  description  of  the  circumstances  in 
which  it  was  composed.  He  had  left  the  house  of  a  friend  to  whom 
he  had  said  farewell,  and  on  his  way  home  had  to  cross  a  wide 
stretch  of  solitary  moor.  The  aspect  of  nature  harmonized  with 
his  feelings.  It  was  a  lowering  and  heavy  evening  in  the  end  of 
autumn.  The  wind  was  up,  and  whistled  through  the  rushes  and 
the  long  spear-grass  which  bent  before  it.  The  clouds  were  driv- 
ing across  the  sky  :  and  cold,  pelting  showers,  at  intervals,  added 
discomfort  of  body  to  cheerlessness  of  mind.'  In  that  gloomy 
night-walk,  this  touching  lament  was  composed. 


THE  BANKS  O'  DOON.    1791.    (Page  80.) 

The  sadness  by  which  the  poet  was  oppressed  in  the  last  years 
of  his  life  is  forcibly  expressed  in  this  poem.  His  love  for  the 
streams  of  his  childhood's  home  has  inspired  many  beautiful  lines. 


AFTON   WATER.     1791.     (Page  81.) 

Afton  is  a  tributary  of  the  Nith.  The  scenes  along  its  banks 
are  said  to  be  beautiful.  The  Mary  who  *  sleeps  by  the  murmur- 
ing stream '  is  believed  to  be  Highland  Mary,  who  was  buried  in 
the  kirkyard  at  Greenock.  *  A  kind  of  holy  calm  pervades  the  soul 
of  the  reader  who  peruses,  or  the  auditor  who  listens  to  the  music 
of  this  unique  strain.' 


I 


PACE  83.]  NOTES.  117 

HIGHLAND   MARY.    1792.    (Page  82.) 

Mary  Campbell,  whose  memory  the  poet  has  immortalized  in 
this  exquisite  strain  of  true  feeling,  was  the  daughter  of  a  mariner. 
While  in  service  at  the  castle  of  Montgomery,  she  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Burns,  and  an  ardent  attachment  was  the  result. 
When  Mary  was  about  to  return  to  her  father's  home  at  Greenock, 
the  lovers  took  an  impressive  farewell  of  each  other.  Standing  on 
either  side  of  a  running  stream,  they  lifted  up  water  in  their  hands, 
and  vowed  love  '  while  woods  grew  and  waters  ran.'  Then  they 
exchanged  Bibles  as  a  token  of  faith  and  constancy.  It  proved  to 
be  their  final  farewell ;  for  *  sweet  Highland  Mary '  died  while 
making  preparations  for  her  marriage. 

In  sending  this  poem  to  Thomson,  Burns  wrote  :  '  The  foregoing 
song  pleases  myself :  I  think  it  is  in  my  happiest  manner.' 

'  The  poem  is  an  excellent  illustration  of  a  certain  happy  arrange- 
ment of  syllables,  without  any  sameness  of  jingle  at  the  end  of 
the  lines.  There  is  scarcely  a  true  rhyme  in  the  whole  thirty-two 
verses,  and  yet  the  ear  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  its  musical 
rhythm.' — Douglas. 

AULD  LANG  SYNE.     1788.     (Page  83.) 

*  Is  not  the  old  Scotch  phrase,'  Burns  writes  to  Mrs.  Dunlop, 
'  Auld  lang  syne,  exceedingly  expressive  ?  There  is  an  old  song 
and  tune  which  has  often  thrilled  through  my  soul.' 

'In  songs  like  Auld  Lang  Syne,^  says  Shairp,  VBurns  has  ap- 
proached nearer  to  the  Biblical  severity,  such  as  we  find  in  the 
words  of  Naomi,  or  one  of  the  old  Hebrew  patriarchs,  than  any 
other  modern  poet.' 

'  This  poem  is  as  characteristically  Scottish  as  the  heather  on 
the  brae,  or  the  pine-tree  in  the  glen.'  —  Blackie. 

21.  guid-willie :  hearty,  with  good  will.  waught :  copious 
drink.  An  Edinburgh  editor  corrects  the  frequent  mistake  of  the 
reading  '  giide  willie-wdught.'*  He  says :  '  willie-waught  is  non- 
sense ;  but  ''gude-willie,"  or  "ill-willie,"  is  a  compound  adjective 
in  every-day  use.' 


118  NOTES.  [page  84. 


JOHN  ANDERSON  MY  JO.    1789.    (Page  84.) 

*  Many  a  glowing  image  of  youthful  love  he  has  left  us,  the  best 
of  them  as  delicate  and  pure  in  their  passion  as  ever  lyrics  were ; 
and  here  the  circle  of  fervid  verse  is  completed  by  the  most  perfect 
utterance  of  old  and  faithful  affection.'  —  Mrs.  Oliphant. 

It  is  said  that  the  John  referred  to  in  this  poem  was  a  native  of 
Ayrshire  and  a  carpenter  by  trade ;  but  the  feeling  excited  and 
satisfied  by  its  eloquent  simplicity  is  universal. 


MY   NANNIE'S   AWA.     1794.     (Page  84.) 

This  lyric  is  said  to  have  been  suggested  by  thoughts  of  an  ab- 
sent friend,  Mrs.  M'Lehose,  of  Edinburgh,  who  had  been  very  kind 
to  the  poet  during  his  stay  in  that  city.  At  the  time  it  was  com- 
posed, Mrs.  M'Lehose  was  in  the  West  Indies. 

Cf.  Wordsworth's  lyric,  *She  Dwelt  among  the  Untrodden 
Ways.' 

SONG.     1795-     (Page  85.) 

*  Love  of  country  often  mingles  in  the  lyric  strains  of  Burns  with 
his  personal  attachments,  and  in  few  more  beautifully  than  in  this. 
The  heroine  was  Mrs.  Burns.' — Allan  Cunningham. 


MY  HEART'S  IN  THE   HIGHLANDS.    1789.    (Page  85.) 

In  his  notes.  Burns  says  that  the  four  lines  which  form  the  cho- 
rus of  this  song  are  old,  and  that  the  rest  is  his  own  composition. 
They  were  beloved  by  Walter  Scott,  who  often  used  to  sing  them. 


SONNET  WRITTEN  ON  THE  AUTHOR'S  BIRTHDAY. 
1793.     (Page  86.) 

Allan  Cunningham  tells  us  that  these  lines  were  written  in  a 
favorite  resort  of  Burns.  '  Burns  was  fond  of  a  saunter  in  a  leaf- 
less wood  when  the  winter  storm  howled  among  the  branches. 
These  characteristic  lines  were  composed  on  the  morning  of  his 
thirty-fifth  birthday,  with  the  Nith  at  his  feet,  and  the  ruins  of 


i 


PAGE  88.]  NOTES.  119 

Lincluden  at  his  side  ;  he  is  wilUng  to  accept  the  unlooked-for  song 
of  the  thrush  as  a  fortunate  omen. ' 

BANNOCKBURN.     1793.     (Page  87.) 

According  to  the  poet's  own  account,  this  ode  was  composed,  as 
so  many  of  his  songs  have  been  produced,  under  the  suggestive 
inspiration  of  haunting  memories  of  some  old  Scotch  air,  —  in 
this  case.  Hey,  tuttie,  taitie,  the  tune  to  which,  as  he  had  heard, 
the  soldiers  of  Bruce's  army  marched  to  Bannockburn.  '  This 
thought,'  he  says,  '  in  my  solitary  wanderings,  warmed  me  to  a 
pitch  of  enthusiasm  on  the  theme  of  liberty  and  independence, 
which  I  threw  into  a  kind  of  Scottish  ode,  fitted  to  the  air,  that  one 
might  suppose  to  be  the  royal  Scot's  address  to  his  heroic  followers 
on  that  eventful  morning.  So  may  God  ever  defend  the  cause  of 
truth  and  liberty  as  he  did  that  day.' 

In  a  letter  written  to  Lord  Buchan,  in  January,  1794,  Burns 
says  :  '  Independently  of  my  enthusiasm  as  a  Scotsman,  I  have 
rarely  met  with  anything  in  history  which  interests  my  feelings  as 
a  man,  equal  with  the  story  of  Bannockburn.  On  tlie  one  hand, 
a  cruel,  but  able  usurper,  leading  on  the  finest  army  in  Europe,  to 
extinguish  the  last  spark  of  freedom  among  a  greatly  daring  and 
greatly  injured  people  ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  desperate  relics  of 
a  gallant  nation  devoting  themselves  to  rescue  their  bleeding  coun- 
try or  perish  with  her.  Liberty  !  thou  art  a  prize  truly,  and  in- 
deed valuable,  for  never  canst  thou  be  too  dearly  bought ! ' 

Carlyle  says :  *  So  long  as  there  is  warm  blood  in  the  heart  of 
Scotchmen  or  man,  it  will  move  in  fierce  thrills  under  this  war  ode, 
the  best  we  believe  that  was  ever  written  by  any  man.' 

A  MAN'S  A   MAN   FOR  A'  THAT.     1795.     (Page  88.) 

This  noble  lyric,  inspired  by  manly  independence,  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  melodious,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  fervid  and 
forcible  expression  of  the  innate  worth  of  man  that  has  ever  been 
made.  One  writer  says,  that  *  of  all  the  poems  and  songs  he  ever 
wrote,  it  could  least  be  spared  from  a  collection  of  his  works. 
B^ranger  of  France,  Goethe  of  Germany,  and,  indeed,  people  of 


120  NOTES,  [PAGE  89. 

every  nation,  quote  its  generous  and  powerful  couplets  whenever 
they  speak  of  Burns.' 

l*rofessor  Blackie  says  :  *  In  this  song  we  have  the  finest  combi- 
nation of  practical  philosophy,  evangelical  piety,  and  political  wis- 
dom that  ever  was  put  into  a  popular  song.  In  this  song  he  soars 
above  all  party  feelings,  and  merely  announces  plainly  what  is  the 
poet's  mission,  no  less  than  the  prophet's,  —  to  preach  from  the 
housetop  that  there  is  no  respect  of  persons  with  God.' 

*  Burns  was  one  of  the  people,  and  he  spoke  for  the  people.  He 
broke  the  pathetic  silence  of  the  toiling  multitudes  with  a  voice  so 
sweet  and  strong  and  true  that  it  rang  into  every  heart  that  longs 
for  freedom,  and  into  every  home  where  liberty  is  dear.' 

—  E.  Charlton  Black. 

Cf.  his  poem,  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Captain  Matthew  Henderson, 

THE  PLOUGHMAN.    (Page  89.) 

It  is  natural  that  the  poet  whose  Genius  found  him  at  the  plough, 
and  cast  her  mantle  over  him,  as  he  said,  should  sing  of  the  honest- 
hearted,  simple  delights  of  the  ploughman's  life.  In  another  of 
his  poems,  we  find  the  same  joyful  expression  :  — 

'  As  I  was  a-wand'ring  ae  morning  in  spring, 
I  heard  a  young  ploughman  so  sweetly  to  sing : 
And  as  he  was  singin',  thir  words  he  did  say,  — 
'•  There's  nae  life  like  the  ploughman's  in  the  month  o*  sweet  May. 

'  '*  The  lav'rock  in  the  morning  she'll  rise  frae  her  nest, 
And  mount  i'  the  air  wi'  the  dew  on  her  breast, 
And  wi'  the  merry  ploughman  she'll  whistle  and  sing, 
And  at  night  she'll  return  to  her  nest  back  again."  ' 

Cf.  also  his  ballad,  My  Father  was  a  Farmer, 

A   BARD'S   EPITAPH.     1786.     (Page  90.) 

This  self-estimate  of  himself  was  written  for  the  close  of  the  first 
volume  of  Bums's  poems,  which  was  published  to  defray  the 
expenses  of  his  expected  voyage  to  the  West  Indies,  and  may  be 
taken  as  the  sincere  expression  of  his  feelings  as  he  reviewed  his 


PAGE  91.]  NOTES,  121 

life  up  to  that  time.  It  shows  plainly  what  is  confirmed  by  many 
of  his  other  poems  —  that  he  understood  his  own  weakness,  and  his 
powers  and  real  worthiness  as  well. 

*  Burns  does  not  deceive  himself,'  says  Stopford  Brooke  ;  '  for  he 
has  one  of  the  noblest  qualities  a  man  can  possess,  —  entire  sincer- 
ity with  himself.     It  never  occurred  to  him  to  be  untrue.' 

Cf.  his  own  poem,  Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend;  also  Words- 
worth's lines,  At  the  Grave  of  Burns. 

From  the  Poem,  TO    A    LOUSE.     1786.      (Page  91.) 

Who  but  Bums  could  have  treated  such  a  theme  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  redeem  it  from  its  repulsiveness,  —  and,  still  more,  to  de- 
duce from  it  a  lesson  of  immortal  and  universal  truth  and  power  ? 

NATURE'S   LAW.     1786.     (Page  91.) 

This  closing  stanza  of  a  poem  addressed  to  his  friend  Gavin 
Hamilton  may  fitly  close  a  volume  of  Selections  from  the  Poems  of 
Robert  Burns.  Although  no  descendants  of  Scotland's  truest  bard 
seem  to  have  inherited  his  poetic  gifts,  the  wish  is  best  fulfilled  in 
the  immortality  of  his  own  verse,  and  in  the  constantly  widening 
circle  of  love  in  which  his  poetry  is  cherished  by  lovers  of  true 
poetry  in  every  land. 


SUGGESTIONS   FOR  CLASS   STUDY. 


These  suggestions  for  study  are  offered  in  the  hope  that 
students  and  teachers  who  are  not  well  acquainted  with  Robert 
Burns,  or  who  have  not  learned  to  love  him,  may  find  them  of 
some  assistance  towards  a  knowledge  of  the  real  Burns  and  an 
appreciation  of  his  worth.  For  to  know  a  writer,  one  must  read 
his  mind  and  listen  to  his  heart-beats,  as  mind  and  heart  have 
revealed  themselves  through  his  expression  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing in  his  works. 

The  suggestions  are  intended  only  for  those  who  need  them, 
or  who  would  be  helped  by  them. 


In  case  a  class  is  making  a  study  of  the  historical  develop- 
ment of  English  literature  in  the  eighteenth  century.  Burns 
will  be  studied  in  relation  to  the  gradual  change  in  the  point 
of  view  concerning  man  and  nature,  which  is  noticeable  in  the 
poets  from  Pope  to  Cowper  and  Wordsworth.  A  judicious 
selecticm  of  representative  poems,  with  suggestions  of  topics 
for  guidance,  will  enable  pupils  to  discover  for  themselves  the 
ground  for  the  statement  that  "love  of  nature  and  love  of  man, 
which  had  been  wanting  in  the  poetry  of  Pope  and  his  school, 
were  restored  by  Burns,  Cowper,  and  Wordsworth." 

The  general  topics  which  are  given  below  for  the  study  of 
Burns  will  serve  also  for  this  comparison. 


Study  the  poems  to  discover  — 

1.  Burns's  love  of  native  land;  of  his  own  shire;  his  ideal  of 

patriotism. 

2.  His  feelings  about  home  and  home  ties. 

122 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR    CLASS  STUDY,  123 

3.  His  feeling  for  nature  —  show  what   poetic  uses  he  has 

made  of  nature. 

4.  His  feeling  towards  what  are  termed  the  lower  animals; 

concerning  man's  treatment  of  animals. 

5.  His  self-knowledge  ;  his  motives  and  ideals. 

6.  His  independence  of  spirit. 

7.  His  estimate  of  manly  worth. 

8.  His  religious  feeling. 

9.  His  ideas  concerning  poetry  and  his  own  mission  as  a  poet. 

10.  His  generous  recognition  of  the  work  of  other  poets ;  his 

freedom  from  petty  jealousy. 

11.  His  use  of  the  supernatural  and  of  folk-lore. 

12..  Find  illustrations  of  his  power  to  ' flash  a  scene  upon  the  eye.' 

These  topics  can  be  reported  by  reference  lists,  which  can  be 
made  the  subjects  of  conversation  in  class ;  or  they  may  be  used 
as  themes  for  compositions,  different  topics  being  assigned  to 
different  pupils.  In  either  method,  however,  every  poem  should 
be  read  with  these  points  in  mind,  in  order  to  discover  what  are 
Burns's  controlling  principles  and  tastes,  and  his  ideals  of  life. 

At  the  close  of  the  Introduction  will  be  found  some  critical 
estimates  of  the  poetry  of  Burns.  It  would  be  a  profitable 
exercise  for  students  to  seek  in  the  poems  the  justification  of 
these  statements.  Such  an  exercise  cultivates  discriminating 
judgment  and  the  power  to  form  unprejudiced  opinions. 


In  order  to  gain  a  true  estimate  of  Burns  as  a  poet,  it  is 
desirable  to  study  his  poems  from  the  artistic  standpoint.  No 
one  knew  better  than  Burns  himself  his  limitations  as  a  poet. 
Untoward  circumstances,  want  of  scholastic  training,  and  his 
early  death  forbade  his  attempting  epic  or  drama.  In  the  realm 
of  pure  lyric  poetry  he  is  unsurpassed  among  English  writers. 
Study  him  as  a  lyric  poet^ ;  as  a  writer  of  ballads  2;  to  discover 

1  In  Gummere's  Art  of  Poetics  a  clear  analytic  discussion  of  the 
qualities  and  formal  divisions  of  Lyric  Poetry  is  given. 

2  Principal  Shairp's  article  on  'Scottish  Song  and  Burns,'  in  his 
book  entitled  Aspects  of  Poetry,  contains  one  of  the  best  expositions 
of  the  nature  of  Lyric  Poetry. 


124  SUGGESTIONS  FOR   CLASS  STUDY. 

his  dramatic  qualities;  his  management  of  the  dialogue;  his 
liunior;  the  qualities  of  his  diction  in  the  Scotch  dialect,  and 
iu  the  use  of  ICnglish. 

STUDY   OF   PARTICULAR   POEMS. 

Plans  for  the  study  of  four  of   the  longer  poems  are  here 
given. 

THE    VISION.     (Page  I.) 

a.    Examine  the  structure  of  the   poem ;    note  its   divisions ; 

describe  its  versification. 
6.    Note  the  change  of  feeling,  and  the  cause. 

c.  Discover  what  the  poem  reveals  of  the  poet's  life-experiences; 

his  self-estimate;  the  themes  which  he  chooses;  his  loves, 
hopes,  and  ideals ;  his  idea  of  the  distribution  of  gifts. 

d.  Observe  what  it  reveals  of  Scottish  life  and  customs. 

e.  Discover  fine  passages  of  description ;  expressive  epithets ; 

notable  figures. 
/.   Mention  historical  allusions ;  allusions  to  literature. 

(Compare  Wordsworth's  Sonnet,  *Nuns  fret   not  at  their 

convent's  narrow  room.') 
The  Vision  is  a  favorite  form  with  Romantic  poets,  and  is 

peculiarly  adapted  to  self-communing. 

THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY   NIGHT.    (Page  lo.) 

a.  What  stanza  is   used  in   this  poem?      Describe  it   as  to 

(1)  metre;  (2)  rhyme. 

b.  What  is  the  especial  significance  of  the  prefatory  stanza? 
r.    To  whom  is  the  poem  dedicated?    In  what  spirit? 

d.  What  season  is  made  the  background  of  the  picture  ?    Show 

wherein  its  fitness  consists. 

e.  Mention  the  particulars  which  contribute  to  the  poetic  effect 

of  stanzas  1  and  2.     Compare  this  opening  picture  with 
that  of  Gray's  Elegy,  as  to  (1)   the  feeling  portrayed ; 

(2)  vividness. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR    CLASS  STUDY,  125 

/.    What  virtues  are  inculcated  in  this  poem? 

g.   Examine  the  diction  as  to  (1)  source  of  words;  (2)  figures. 

h.   Infer  from  this  poem   something  of  the   poet's  views   of 

life. 
i.    Can  this  picture  of  the  home  of  a  Scotch  peasant  be  regarded 

as  a  universal  poem  ? 

THE   BRIGS  OF  AYR.     (Page  33.) 

a.   Examine  the  structure  of  this  poem  analytically,  and  refer 

the  different  divisions  to  the  form  of  verse  to  which  they 

belong. 
h.    Study  carefully  the  characterizations  of  the  two  spirits  to 

discover  their  truth   and  poetic  power.      What   Gothic 

features  are  embodied? 

c.  Compare  the  introduction  with  that  of  The   Cotter's  Satur- 

day Night. 

d.  Infer  Burns's  feelings  concerning  the  poet's  inspiration  and 

reward. 

e.  Discuss  the  pictures  of  nature  in  this  poem,  as  to  their  poetic 

purpose,  their  beauty,  and  their  power. 
/.   Mention  figures  of  Personification,  and  show  wherein  they 

are  effective. 
g.   Discuss  the  satire  in  this  poem,  and  infer  from  it  Burns's 

opinions  on   questions   of  taste;    his  public   spirit;    his 

standard  of  manhood. 
h.   Explain  allusions  in  lines  12,  14,  73,  97,  137,  140,  228,  230. 
i.    Characterize  the  style  of  the  poem. 

TAM   O'  SHANTER.    (Page  40.) 

a.  To  what  class  of  poetry  does  this  poem  belong? 

h.  Discover  its  poetic  qualities ;  the  source  of  its  power. 

c.  Tell  the  story  in  prose. 

d.  Make  a  word-picture  of  Tam  and  of  his  wife. 

e.  Mention  points  of  folk-lore  embodied  in  the  poem. 


126  SUGGESTIONS  FOR   CLASS  STUDY. 

f.  What  does  it  reveal  of  Scotch  life?     Contrast  with   The 

Cotter's  Saturday  Night.     The  Scotch  people  are  said  to 
be  as  proud  of  this  poem  as  of  that.     Why  ? 

g.  Select  passages  of  especial  beauty  or  power. 
h.    How  is  nature  used  in  this  poem  ? 

t.    Discuss  the  poem  as  to  metre,  diction,  figures,  etc. 


1 


GLOSSARY. 


A',  all. 

Aboon,  above,  up. 

Abread,  abroad. 

Acquent,  acquainted. 

Ae,  one. 

Aff,  off. 

Aft,  aften,  often. 

Agley,  wrong,  off  the  right  path. 

Aiblihs,  perhaps. 

Ain,  own. 

Airn,  iron. 

Aith,  oath. 

Aiver,  an  old  horse. 

Alane,  alone. 

Amaist,  almost. 

Amang,  among. 

Ance,  once. 

Ane,  one. 

Anither,  another. 

Auld,  old. 

Ava,  at  all. 

Ba',  ball. 

Bade  an  unco  bang,  withstood  a 

heavy  stroke. 
Bairn,  a  child. 
Baith,  both. 
Bane,  bone. 

Bang,  to  beat,  to  drive,  to  excel. 
Barmie,  yeasty. 
Baws'nt,  having  a  white  stripe 

down  the  face. 


Bear,  barley. 

Beet,  to  add  fuel  to  a  fire. 

Beld,  bald. 

Belyve,  by  and  by. 

Ben,  into  the  spence,  or  parlor. 

Beuk,  a  book. 

Bickering,  hurrying,  speedy. 

Bield,  shelter. 

Bien,  wealthy,  plentiful. 

Big,  to  build. 

Biggin,  a  building. 

Billie,  brother,  companion. 

Bing,  a  heap  of  grain,  potatoes, 

etc. 
Birk,  birch. 

Birkie,  a  conceited  fellow. 
Bizz,  to  buzz. 
Blastet,  worthless. 
Blastie,  a  shrivelled  dwarf. 
Blastit,  blasted. 
Blate,  bashful. 
Blaw,  to  blow. 
Bleeze,  blaze. 

Blellum,  nonsense,  an  idle  talker. 
Blether,  to  talk  idly,  nonsense. 
Blethering,  nonsensical. 
Blink,   a  smiling  look,  a  little 

while. 
Bluid,  blood. 

Bock,  to  gush  intermittently. 
Boddle,  a  farthing,  a  copper  coin 

(value  two  Scotch  pennies). 


127 


128 


GLOSSARY, 


Bogles,  ghosts,  bogies. 
Bonny,  handsome,  tine. 
Boost,  must  needs. 
Bore,  a  cr€$vice,  a  hole  in  the 

wall. 
Bousing,  drinking. 
Brae,  the  slope  of  a  hill. 
Braid,  broad. 
Brattle,    a   short    race,    hurry, 

scamper. 
Braw,  gallant,  handsome. 
Brawly,  very  well,  heartily. 
Braxies,  diseased  sheep. 
Breeks,  breeches. 
Brent-new,    brand-new,    in    the 

fashion. 
Brig,  a  bridge. 
Brither,  a  brother. 
Brock,  a  badger. 
Broo,  broth,  w\ater. 
Brose,  or  broose,  broth. 
Brugh,  a  borough. 
Buirdly,  stout. 

Bum-clock,  the  humming  beetle. 
Burdies,  damsels. 
Bare,  bore. 

Burn,  a  small  stream,  a  brook. 
Buskit,  dressed. 
But,  without,  outside. 
Byke,  a  bee-hive. 

Ca',  to  call,  to  drive. 

Caird,  a  tinker,  a  fortune-teller. 

Cairn,  a  loose  heap  of  stones. 

Cannie,  or  canny,  gentle,  mild. 

Cantie,  or  canty,  cheerful. 

Cantraip,  a  charm,  a  spell. 

Carlin,  an  old  hag. 

Cartis,  cards. 

Cauld,  cold. 

Chapman,  a  pedler. 


Chiel,  a  young  fellow. 

Chittering,  shivering. 

Claes,  clothes. 

Claivers,  idle  stories. 

Clap,  the  clapper  of  a  mill. 

Clarkit,  wrote. 

Clash,  an  idle  tale. 

Clatter,  an  idle  story. 

Claught,  snatched  at. 

Clautit,  scraped. 

Cleed,  to  clothe. 

deeding,  clothing. 

Cleekit,  caught  hold  of  each 
other. 

Clishmaclaver,  idle  conversa- 
tion. 

Coft,  bought. 

Cog,  or  coggie,  a  wooden  dish. 

Collie,  a  sheep  dog. 

Cood,  the  cud. 

Coof,  or  cuif,  a  blockhead,  a 
fool. 

Coost,  cast  off. 

Corbies,  crows. 

Core,  party,  clan. 

Cowrin',  shivering,  trembling. 

Cowte,  colt. 

Crabbit,  crabbed,  fretful. 

Crack,  to  talk,  conversation. 

Craig,  neck,  a  high  rock. 

Cranreuch,  the  hoar-frost. 

Crap,  a  crop. 

Craw,  a  crow. 

Creeshie,  greasy. 

Crony,  a  friend,  a  gossip. 

Crood,  to  coo  as  a  dove. 

Crooning,  humming. 

Crouse,  cheerful,  courageous. 

Crowlin',  crawling. 

Cummock,  a  staff  with  a  crooked 
head. 


GLOSSARY, 


129 


Curple,  the  crupper. 
Cutty,  short. 

Daffin,  merriment,  diversion. 
Daft,  merry,  giddy,  foolish. 
Daimen  -  icker,   an  ear  of  corn 

occasionally. 
Darena,  dare  not. 
Darg,  or  daurg,  a  day's  labor. 
Daur,    dare ;    dautit,    fondled, 

caressed. 
Dell,  devil. 
Descrive,  perceive. 
Dight,  to  wipe. 
Ding,  to  surpass,  to  push. 
Dirl,  to  shake. 
Dizzen,  a  dozen. 
Doited,  stupefied,  silly  from  age. 
Donsie,  unlucky. 
Douce,   or   douse,   sober,    wise, 

prudent. 
Doure,  sullen,  harsh. 
Dreep,  to  ooze,  to  drop. 
Drouthy,  thii*sty. 
Drumly,  muddy. 
Dub,  a  small  pond. 
Duddie,  ragged. 
Duddies,  clothes. 
Dune,  done. 
Dusht,  overcome  with  fear. 

E'e,  or  66,  the  eye  ;  pi.  een. 

Eerie,  scared,  dreading  spirits. 

Eild,  old  age. 

Eldritch,  ghastly,  elvish. 

Eneuch,  enough. 

Ettle,  to  aim,  to  try. 

Eydent,  diligent. 

Fa',  to  fall,  to  try. 
Fain,  desirous  of,  fond. 


Fairin,  a  present  from  a  fair. 

Fallow,  fellow. 

Fand,  found. 

Fash,  to  trouble,  to  care  for. 

Fasht,  troubled. 

Fause,  false. 

Faut,  fault. 

Fawsont,  decent,  seemly. 

Featly,  neatly,  gracefully. 

Fecht,  to  fight. 

Feg,  a  fig. 

Fell,  keen,  biting. 

Ferlie,  or  ferley,  to  wonder. 

Fidge,  to  fidget. 

Fient,  a  fiend,  a  petty  oath. 

Fier,  sound,  healthy. 

Fit,  a  foot,  or  footstep. 

Flang,  threw  with  violence. 

Flannin,  flannel. 

Flichterin',  fluttering. 

Flingin-tree,  a  flail. 

Flunkie,  a  servant  in  livery. 

Forfairn,  jaded,  forlorn. 

Forfoughten,  fatigued. 

Forgather' d,  met  together. 

Fou,  or  fu',  drunk,  full. 

Foughten,  troubled,  fatigued. 

Frae,  from. 

Fyke,  trifling  cares,  fret. 

Gab,  mouth. 
Gae,  to  go. 
Gaed,  went. 
Gaen,  or  gane,  gone. 
Gang,  to  go,  to  walk. 
Gar,  to  make. 
Gash,  wise,  sagacious. 
Gate,  manner. 

Gaucie,  or  gawcie,  large,  plump. 
Gaudsman,  one  who  drives  the 
horses  at  the  plough. 


130 


GLOSSARY, 


Gaun,  going. 

Gear,  riches,  goods. 

Geek,  to  toss  the  head  in  scorn. 

Geordie,  a  guinea. 

Ghaist,  a  ghost. 

Gie,  to  give. 

Gied,  gave. 

Gien,  given. 

Gin,  if. 

Glaikit,  thoughtless,  foolish. 

Glint,  to  peep. 

Glinted,  glanced. 

Gloamin,  the  twilight. 

Glowerin,  gazing. 

Glow'r,  to  glare,  to  stare. 

Gowan,  the  daisy. 

Gowd,  gold. 

Gowdspink,  the  goldfinch. 

Gowk,  a  term  of  contempt. 

Grane,  to  groan. 

Grat,  wept. 

Gree,  prize. 

Greet,  to  shed  tears,  to  weep. 

Grozet,  a  gooseberry. 

Grushie,     thick,     of      thriving 

growth. 
Gude,  or  guid,  good. 
Gumlie,  muddy. 

Ha%  hall. 

Hae,  to  have. 

Haffet,  the  temple,  the  side  of 

the  head. 
Hafflins,  partly,  almost. 
Hain,  to  spare. 
Hained,  saved. 
Haith,  a  petty  oath. 
Haivers,  idle  talk. 
Hal,  or  hald,  an  abiding-place. 
Hallan,  a  rustic  porch. 
Hame,  home. 


Hansel,  fii^t  gift. 

Hap,     an     outer    garment,     to 

wrap. 
Happer,  the  hopper  of  a  mill. 
Happing,  hopping. 
Harkit,  listened. 
Harn,  a  very  coarse  linen. 
Har'st,  harvest. 
Hand,  to  hold. 
Haughs,  valleys ;  low-lying,  rich 

land. 
Hawkie,  a  cow. 
Heapit,  heaped. 
Hech,  an  exclamation  of  wonder ; 

a  sigh  of  weariness. 
Heeze,  to  raise,  to  lift. 
Herryment,  devastation. 
Het,  hot,  heated. 
Hilch,  to  halt. 
Hing,  to  hang. 

Hirple,  to  walk  with  difficulty. 
Histie,  dry,  barren. 
Hizzie,  a  young  girl. 
Hoast,  a  cough. 
Hog-shouther,  to  jostle. 
Hostin,  coughing. 
Houlet  or  Howlet,  an  owl. 
Howe,  a  hollow,  a  dell. 
Howkin,  digging  deep. 
Howkit,  digged. 
Hurdles,  hips. 

Icker,  an  ear  of  com. 
Ilk,  or  Ilka,  each,  every. 
Ingle,  fire,  the  fireside. 
Ither,  other. 

Jauk,  to  dally  at  work. 

Jaup,   a  jet  or  splash    of    any 

liquid. 
I  Jinkin,  dodging. 


I 


1 


GLOSSARY, 


131 


Jouk,  to  stoop,  to  bow  the  head. 
Jundie,  to  push  with  the  elbow. 

Kail,  broth,  cabbage. 

Kain,  farm  produce  paid  as  rent. 

Kebbuck,  cheese. 

Keek,  to  peep,  a  sly  look. 

Ken,  to  know. 

Kennin',  a  trifle. 

Kirn,  a  churn,  the  harvest  sup- 
per. 

Kittle,  to  tickle. 

Knappin-hammer,  a  hammer  for 
breaking  stone. 

Knows,  a  hillock. 

Kye,  cows. 

Lade,  a  load. 

Laggen,  the  angle  between  the 

side  and  the  bottom  of  a  wooden 

dish. 
Laird,  a  lord. 
Lairing,  wading  in  mud. 
Laith,  loth. 
Laithfu',  bashful. 
Lane,   lone ;    my  lane,    myself 

alone. 
Lanely,  lonely. 
Lang,  long. 
Lap,  did  leap. 

Lave,  the  rest,  the  remainder. 
Laverock,  the  lark. 
Lear,  learning. 
Lee-lang,  live  long. 
Leuk,  look. 
Lift,  sky,  heaven. 
Limmer,  a  mistress. 
Link,  to  trip  along. 
Linn,  a  waterfall,  a  cascade. 
Lint,  flax. 
Linties,  or  lintwhites,  linnets. 


Loan,   a   narrow  way  between 

hedges. 
Loof,  palm  of  the  hand. 
Lowe,  a  flame. 
Lowping,  leaping. 
Lug,  the  ear. 

Lunt,  a  column  of  smoke. 
Lyart,  gray. 

Mair,  more. 

Maist,  most,  almost. 

Mak,  to  make. 

Marled,  parti-colored. 

Maukin,  a  hare. 

Maun,  must. 

Mavis,  the  thrush. 

Meikle,  or  muckle,  much. 

Melder,  a  load  of  corn  for  the 

mill. 
Mense,  good  manners. 
Merle,  blackbird. 
Messan,  a  small  dog. 
Mirk,  dark,  darkness. 
Mither,  mother. 
Mony,  many. 
Mottie,  full  of  motes. 
Moudiewort,  a  mole. 
Muslin-kail,  thin  broth. 

Na,  or  nae,  no,  not,  nor. 
Naig,  a  nag. 
Nane,  none. 
Nappy,  strong  ale. 
Neebor,  or  neibor,  neighbor. 
Neest,  next. 

Niffer,  exchange,  barter. 
Nowte,  oxen,  black  cattle. 

O',  of. 

O'ly,  cravat. 
Ony,  any. 


132 


GLOSSARY, 


Or,  before. 

Ourie,  drooping,  shivering. 
Oursel,  ourselves. 
Ower,  owre,  ow'r,  over. 

Pack,  intimate,  familiar. 
Painch,  stomach. 
Paitrick,  a  partridge. 
Parritch,   oatmeal    porridge    or 

pudding. 
Pattle,  a  small  spade. 
Paukie,  cunning,  sly. 
Pechan,  the  crop,  stomach. 
Pit,  to  put. 
Pleugh,  plough. 
Poind,  to  seize  cattle,  etc.,  for 

debt. 
Poortith,  poverty. 
Pou,  pull. 

Poussie,  a  hare  or  a  cat. 
Pouthery,  like  powder. 
Prig,  to  cheapen,  to  dispute. 
Propone,  to  propose. 

Quaick,  quack. 
Quat,  quit. 
Quaukin,  quaking. 
Quean,  a  young  woman. 

Rair,  to  roar. 

Rantin,  joyous. 

Rape,  straw  rope. 

Rase,  rose. 

Rattons,  rate. 

Rax,  to  stretch. 

Ream,  to  cream,  froth. 

Reaming,  brimful,  frothing. 

Reck,  to  heed. 

Rede,  counsel. 

Red-wat-shod,  walking  in  blood. 

Reek,  smoke. 


Rief,  slyness. 
Rig,  ridjjje. 

Rigwoodie,  withered. 
Rin,  to  run. 
Roset,  rosin. 
Row,  to  roll,  to  wrap. 
Rowte,  to  low,  to  bellow. 
Rowth,  plenty. 

Sae,  so. 

Sair,  sore. 

Sang,  a  song. 

Sark,  a  shirt. 

Sarkit,  clothed. 

Saul,  soul. 

Saunt,  a  saint. 

Sautit,  salted. 

Scaur,  a  precipitous  bank  of 
earth. 

Sconner,  to  loathe. 

Shaw,  to  show,  a  small  wood. 

Sheugh,  a  ditch. 

Shore,  to  offer,  to  threaten. 

Sic,  such. 

Siller,  silver,  money. 

Simmer,  summer. 

Skaith,  damage,  injury. 

Skellum,  a  worthless  fellow. 

Skelp,  a  slap. 

Skelpit,  rode  carelessly. 

Skirl,  to  shriek,  to  cry. 

Sklented,  slanted. 

Slap,  a  gato,  a  narrow  opening 
through  a  hedge. 

Sleekit,  sleek,  sly. 

Sma\  small. 

Smeek,  smoke. 

Smiddie,  smithy. 

Smoored,  smothered. 

Smytrie,  a  number  huddled  to- 
gether. 


GLOSSARY. 


133 


Snash,  impertinence. 

Snaw,  snow. 

Snaw-broo,  melted  snow. 

Sneeshin-mill,  snuff-box. 

Snell,  bitter,  biting. 

Snick,  the  latch  of  a  door. 

Snowket,  snuffed. 

Sonsie,  comely,  jolly. 

Souple,  flexible,  swift. 

Souter,  shoemaker. 

Sowpe,  a  spoonful. 

Sowth,  to  whistle  over  a  tune. 

Sowther,  to  solder. 

Spairge,  to  soil,  to  clash. 

Spate,  a  flood. 

Spaviet,  diseased. 

Spean,  to  wean. 

Speel,  to  climb. 

Spence,  the  country  parlor. 

Spier,  to  ask,  to  enquire. 

Sprattle,  to  scramble. 

Squad,  a  crew,  a  party. 

Squattle,  to  sprawl. 

Stacher,  to  stagger. 

Stane,  a  stone. 

Staumrel,  a  blockhead. 

Staw,  did  steal. 

Stechin,  cramming. 

Steek,  to  close,  a  stitch. 

Steer,  to  molest,  to  stir. 

Stents,  dues  of  any  kind. 

Stibble,  stubble. 

Stoure,  dust. 

Strang,  strong. 

Straught,  straight. 

Streek,  to  stretch. 

Streekit,  stretched. 

Stroan't,  spouted. 

Sturt,  trouble. 

Sud,  should. 

Sugh,  a  rushing  sound,  sighing. 


Sumphs,  stupid  fellows. 

Swat,  did  sweat. 

Swats,  new  ale. 

Swirl,  an  eddying  blast  or  pool. 

Swith,  swift,  to  get  away. 

Syne,  since. 

Tae,  toe. 

Taen,  taken. 

Tak,  to  take. 

Tauld,  told. 

Tawted,  or  tawtie,  matted,  un- 
combed. 

Teen,  sorrow,  chagrin. 

Tent,  to  take  heed. 

Tentie,  heedful,  cautious. 

Tentless,  careless,  heedless. 

Teugh,  tough. 

Thack,  a  thatch. 

Thack  an  rape,  clothes. 

Thae,  tliose. 

Thairms,  fiddlestrings. 

Thegither,  together. 

Thir,  these. 

Thirl,  to  thrill. 

Thole,  to  suffer,  to  endure. 

Thowe,  thaw. 

Thrang,  a  crowd. 

Thrave,  twenty-four  sheaves. 

Till't,  to  it. 

Timmer,  timber,  a  tree. 

Tint,  lost. 

Tither,  the  other. 

Tocher,  marriage  portion. 

Tousie,  rough,  shaggy. 

Towmond,  a  twelvemonth. 

Transmugrified,     metamor- 
phosed. 

Trashtie,  rubbish,  trash. 

Trow,  to  believe. 

Trowth,  truth. 


154 


GLOSSARY, 


Twa,  two. 

Twal,  twelve  o'clock. 
Twined,  bereft. 
Tyke,  a  vagrant  dog. 

Unco  (adj.),  strange,  uncouth ; 

(adv.),  very. 
Uncos,  news. 
Unkenn'd,  unknown. 
Upo\  upon. 
Usquebae,  whiskey. 

Vauntie,  proud,  joyous. 

Vera,  very. 

Virl,  a  ring  around  a  column. 

Wad,  would,  to  bet. 
Wadna,  would  not. 
Wae,  woe. 
Waefu',  sorrowful. 
Wale,  to  choose. 
Waly,  ample,  goodly. 
Wark,  work. 
Warly,  worldly. 
Warst,  worst. 
Warstled,  wrestled. 
Wa's,  walls. 
Wastrie,  prodigality. 
Waught,  a  copious  draught. 
Waukit,  thickened. 
Waur,  worse,  to  worst. 
Wean,  a  child. 
Wee,  little. 


Weeder-clips,  hoes. 
Weel,  well. 
Weet,  rain,  wetness. 
Westlin,  western. 
Wha,  who. 
Whalpit,  whelped. 
Whare,  where. 
Whase,  whose. 
Whid,  a  quick  motion. 
Whiddin,  running  as  a  hare. 
Whigmeleeries,  fancies. 
Whiles,  or  whyles,  sometimes. 
Whins,  furze  bushes. 
Whirligigums,     useless    orna- 
ments. 
Whisht,  silence. 
Wi%  with. 
Winna,  will  not. 
Winnock,  window. 
Winnock-bunker,  window-seat. 
Winsome,  bright,  attractive. 
Wist,  knew. 
Wonner,  a  wonder. 
Wrang,  wrong. 
Wyliecoat,  a  flannel  vest. 

Yealing,    born    in    the    same 

year. 
Yerkit,  lashed. 
Yestreen,  yesternight. 
Yill,  ale. 
Yont,  beyond. 
Yowe,  a  ewe. 


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